The Fischer To My Spassky
by SavL7
Summary: Working in Gotham City was like playing a game of chess for the Riddler. He moved each pawn to further his goals, but he couldn't understand how the woman across from him was putting up a more strategic game then himself. EdwardxOC co-authored by Avalikia
1. 1000 Word Riddle

Author Note: I'm sure everyone is wondering why I haven't posted anything in...well months. The reason behind that is because I've gotten wrapped up in role playing. I decided instead of leaving my readers completely abandoned I would show them what I'm writing. I will get back to my other fics eventually and by other fics I mean, How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop, False Reality, and Are you Gay. The rest are on hiatus. Now back to this story. It's full of riddles, heist, violence, and love. I don't know how it happened but it did lol. I only write the Riddler's perspective. Nina is done by my other role player so all of her parts go to her. Batman and Scarecrow also make their appearances and once again their characters are written by their players. I'm putting up the first riddle and if there is enough interest in it I'll put up the rest. This is a RiddlerxOC fanfic. Anyways I hope you all enjoy.

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><p>He sat in the front seat of the van studying the book in his hand. A picture of Abraham Lincoln with his cabinet staff sat around a desk discussing political decisions. It was perfect. It was so simple the GCPD would probably overlook the riddle entirely. He glanced at the specially made bookmark. Across the front of the book mark, in script font, it read, "1000 Words." On the back of the book mark it was a large green question mark that was the signature to all of his riddles. He smirked proud of his work. He then opened up the book Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln to the last chapter, Chapter 25 page 702 to be exact. He placed the bookmark in its place before slamming the book shut. He heard the small blond boy in the back jump in seat, and the big black man driving shift uncomfortably.<p>

He grabbed the book and turned back to face the nineteen year old. "Now I feel like I shouldn't have to go over this again, but with television destroying minds I'd rather be safe and repeat it," he stated with a serious face. His bowler hat was tipping down on his forehead. His focus though was his employee. The kid had messed up his last riddle; he would not mess up this one. The boy look like he was trying to control that nervous shake he had gotten. "It simple..." he said as he held the book out for the boy, " so simple even you can do it. You are going to hand this to the front desk at the GCPD. You will say these words only. 'This is a present for Commissioner Gordon.' You will then leave. Do you understand?"

The boy's head was shaking but nodded. "Excellent," his serious expression turned into an arrogant smirk. He handed the book to the boy, "Riddle me this, what happens to a toy that constantly breaks?"

He waited his usual ten seconds for the boy to answer. Instead his eyes darted from one place to another. His smirk didn't falter even though his right leg sharpened with a pain of irritation. To think it took only one stupid look to set back the power of a good riddle. "You toss it in the trash with all the other dead toys," he said with a smile then turned back around so he could get his tootsie pop. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a green apple lollipop.

"Yes sir…I-I won't mess up," he said politely. Ah yes that's why he kept him around. He was respectful. He quickly unwrapped his lollipop and placed it in his mouth. He started counting slowly to keep his mind on the unsolvable riddle. How many licks to the center of the tootsie pop?

"I don't get why were passin' out presents to fat pig up top," Allen growled from the drivers seat.

Edward turned to the big muscled man with a smile. "I'm not surprised, but luckily I never paid you to think," his lips then frowned. Allen and Robby would be the end of his leg if they continued their stupid rambling. He glanced outside. They were in west Gotham now. Only a few more moments and they would be outside GCPD. Allen made a left and the police cars came into view. His lips stretched into a full grin. The excitement of fooling the slow dim witted cops entertained his mind. They would never figure it out even though it is the simplest riddle he has ever created. Well…as long as the Batman did not get involved his crime would be a success.

He pulled off his dark green bowler cap that would draw attention as Allen parked in the visitor parking place. "Go," he ordered.

Robby opened the door and causally walked towards the front doors. Cops were walking out and walking in. A normal criminal would be nervous, but Edward wasn't. No one notices what hides in plain sights. He saw Allen's hands tighten on the drivers wheels. Edward just plucked out his green lollipop and stared at it. He had lost count. Those tootsie roll bastards knew no one could sit and count each licks without biting. He would have to write a respectful letter to them some day.

The next thing he knew the back door opened again, and Robby was back inside. "Any problems?" he asked.

"N-no," he answered his eyes falling to the floor. Normally that would be a sign of guilt, but with Robby it was just personality. If the boy was guilty he would honestly admit it.

He clapped his hands together in joy, "Well let's go. A new Law and Order SVU is on tonight." He felt giddy with excitement. His crime would take place this week, and he was certain it would be a success.

"Ya figure out rapist in the first five minutes," Allen said annoyed.

"Yes that's the fun of it," he responded as Allen put the car in reverse as they sped back to their hideout.


	2. The First Move

Author Note: Again this is an RP so the shift in perspective will be choppy, but I feel still enjoyable.

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><p>The Riddler buttoned his dark green pen stripe jacket to cover the permanent marker question mark on his tee-shirt. It was about the only thing an average citizen could recognize of him to realize he was the Riddler…well and his bowler cap that he was keeping in his hand. It is quite amazing how people were too obtuse to pay attention to the small details of another person. They focus on the shouting differences, and he would use it to his benefit. He looked up the stairs to the giant Art museum. Of course the police were unable to figure out his riddle.<p>

1000 words.

A picture holds a thousand words...and what holds the most pictures in Gotham?

The Gotham Art and Portrait Gallery that had a large collection of portraits dating back to 1700s. Currently there was an exhibit featuring Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln wasn't his favorite President, but it did not escape Edward how priceless photos from the 1800s were. It would help him pay off his debt in the black market. His last riddle with the Doctor had cost him a fortune. Advance mechanic and new technology would cost anyone a fortune. And while he could lower himself to ramen every once in awhile...his pallet preferred the fine tasting cuisine he had become accustomed to.

He looked at the stairs again, and let out a sigh. Stairs had a talent of killing his excitement. He turned to the side and headed to the handicap ramp. The process was painfully slow for him, but that was life as a cripple. He watched as families and other random citizens walked into the museums as he slowly made his way to the glass doors. It wasn't very busy because it was 7:02 at night, but there were still enough people to make the heist a challenge. He pressed the button near the door and watched as it automatically opened to him. There was a small line for security, and he calmly waited for his turn. He saw Allen squeezed into a tight security uniform near the information desk watching him patiently. They had stolen it this morning from the guard's locker. As expected when he walked through the metal detector it went off. He smiled smugly at the other guard who waved him over.

"The metal plate makes life a nuisance, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically to the tired guard at the end of his shift.

The guard forced a smile and nodded. He took note to the cane as he used his metal detector wand along his body. It went off on near his right near where he had the gun strapped. The guard then waved him along uncaringly. Oh how easily it was to deceive the dim witted minds around him. He walked passed Allen made a left into the long square hallway. It was decorated with paintings and portraits that normally would have caught his interest, but he had more important matters. After a few minutes down the hallway he heard Allen's big steps following him. Edward couldn't help the smug expression on his lips. This was too easy. Where was the challenge? His cane sounded against the wood floor as he took another turn and saw the entrance to the small exhibit. He made sure his blackberry he felt his blackberry in his pocket before taking the final steps into the exhibit.

The room was small and had low lights pointing at each aging photograph and painting. In the middle of the room there were a collections of old documents signed by Abraham Lincoln and the very pen he supposedly signed it with. Off in a corner there was also a collection of old coins that were made during the civil war. He had considered stealing these as well, but breaking into a glass case was too messy for his taste. No reason to ruin his clothes with blood from a cut. It would have been perfect if no one was in the room, but standing in front of the portrait portraying Lincoln's Gettysburg speech was a young woman. He almost felt a tinge of disappointment until he took her in once more. She had dark brown hair pulled up in a bun and was wearing a professional blouse that seemed to insinuate her body type. She was quite attractive. He couldn't help the boyish smirk from appearing on his face. He heard Allen step into the room, but he choose to ignore him. He could spare a few minutes until he put his heist into action.

Instead he walked up behind the woman, and even with the noise of his cane she didn't turn around. He stood there silently for a moment observing her subtle shifts and her steady breathing.

He finally decided to ask the riddle that was bothering him with flirtatious smug smile, "Why is an attractive young woman appreciating art alone?"

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><p>To say that Nina was unsettled by what happened at the bank is no understatement. So much chaos, so many innocent people... In the end she decided that she needed to use one of her vacation days for once so that she could return to work with a clear head. It wasn't like she had any shortage of vacation days, and what use could she be to anyone when she couldn't concentrate?<p>

What she needed was distraction - something that would take her mind off of her memories of the bank, off of work, and off of anything remotely stressful. And coming to the museum seemed to be a good way to finish off the day. While medicine meant so much to her that she not only chose it as a profession but dedicated her life to it in every possible way, that doesn't mean that she doesn't have other interests. Art, photography, history, archeology, paleontology, and all the other fields of study showcased in the museum were all fascinating subjects in their own way.

And that's how she came to be studying a portrait of Lincoln giving the Gettysburg address, though she isn't nearly as fascinated by it as she appears to be. No, she was distracted by the sound of the cane; the vague glimpse of the man she got out of the corner of her eye wasn't of someone elderly so her curiosity gets the better of her. As she pretends to focus on the painting she actually lets her mind drift to the leg, and it doesn't take her more than a moment to locate the cause because the sensory nerves are an obvious first thing to check. PAIN! many of them seem to scream in their chemical language, and by following them to their source she finds the injury.

Her face twitches with a suppressed grimace; something she _could_ fix, but to do it properly would take hours. And even if it was feasible for her to convince a complete stranger to stay in her presence for that long, she wouldn't have enough time to do anything else if she helped everyone she ran into with a problem of that kind. Not to mention trying to explain to anyone what happened. _You'll have a cure for that sort of thing in three to five years_, she reminds herself, _And you're on vacation today._ Though the self-talk helps, it won't stop her from feeling at least vaguely guilty until her mind shifts completely onto something else.

But it seems that won't happen very quickly because the man comes up behind her and asks his question. What's this? Could he possibly be _flirting_? "Because she can only be distracted temporarily," she replies cryptically, but honestly. Work is life for this woman, so the fact that her public appearances outside of work are rare keep the number of men that are aware of her existence to an absolute minimum. Those few exceptions are generally put off by how absolutely devoted she is to her job, as opposed to them. And it wasn't something she was too bothered by; it would be incredibly selfish of her to take time away from increasing the quantity and quality of human life just so that she could have a social life. And when she's given that answer she glances back at the man with a detached expression; your interest is noted, but not returned.

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><p>He felt his smirk widened in interest. He loved a good puzzle, and this woman appeared to be one. She can only be distracted temporary, he mulled over the statement. Based on her stiff form and professional look, this museum setting must be rare. A career woman, he could appreciate that. He was a career man himself. He glanced at her delicate hands for a moment. Her nails were short and kept clean. A businesswoman would have them longer and painted. He then glanced back to her hazel eyes. She wasn't making it obvious, but he could tell that she was glancing at his leg. It wasn't a rejection to him being handicap, but rather a I want to help you look. Ah…a doctor. He smiled feeling proud to have determined the puzzle, but there was something more about her that he couldn't peice.<p>

The way she worded her statement caught his interest. Distractions. He had come to love distractions, and the ability for the small moments to take you away from…pain. He controlled the frown from forming on his face. In remembering it, the sharp pain of knives along his leg flooded to his senses. His hand free of hat and cane reached for his pocket as he responded, "Ah well it would be unkind for a man to keep you away from your work. What type of medicine do you practice?" He pulled out his tootsie pop and managed to unwrap it with his one hand. He placed the candy in his mouth in hopes of getting the needed distraction from pain. As expected as soon as the candy touched his tongue he felt immensely better.

He heard shifting behind him. Allen must be moving to the corner impatiently. Yes, he was in the middle of a riddle wasn't he? Distraction did tend to take the better of him.

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><p>Now that she's actually watching him properly, Nina is gathering pieces of her own to put together. Not that she's nearly as good at this sort of thing as he is; he may be able to draw enough conclusions about her profession based on minute details, but meanwhile she's able to quickly sense that the man she's talking to is one of the exceptionally intelligent types - the thoughtful expression combined with eyes shifting here and there for clues is either the mark of that or it's opposite, but that he doesn't stumble over his words shows that he's no idiot.<p>

And his question, which causes her to raise both eyebrows in surprise, is proof enough of her supposition. "Brilliant, Sherlock," she says with the smallest of grins and without a trace of irony. It's a compliment, really. "I'm a research microbiologist and chemist for Wayne Enterprises," she answers, "I do a lot of consultation work" which means the other doctors and scientists ask her for help "but _my_ focus is increasing the body of knowledge relating to cellular functioning." Is it normal for her to be so specific when explaining what she does? No, but she suspects this man might actually be able to understand her explanation. Though even when she boils it down cellular functioning it's still a very generalized subject, but she really does dip into every aspect of that. Being the master of everything extremely tiny means that she doesn't _have_ to specialize further to be an expert on all of it.

"And what is it that you do?" she asks, though mostly because that's what one asks when one has explained their profession to a stranger. Not that she isn't curious about the answer - if this man is as intelligent as he seems then he easily garners her curiosity. But he also attracts a certain wariness; she _is_ hiding a significant secret, after all, so the overly perceptive person is perhaps not the best type of person for her to be around much. Though on the other hand, how could one possibly guess at her gift if she does nothing outward with it?

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><p>He couldn't help his arrogant smirk. He did always have a way with the naïve female species. It was so easy to manipulate their emotions into something pleasant. He watched as the tenseness in the woman's shoulder slightly relaxed and the small smile come across her lips. Her guard had easily fallen into something friendly. Of course it wasn't completely gone, he noticed the nervousness in her form. She kept shifting, a sign of nervousness, and her arms stayed slightly in front of her, a sign she didn't trust him. No matter, he had still chosen the perfect topic of interest to her, and surprisingly he was impressed with this average civilian. He had never met a research microbiologist. It seemed rather uncharacteristic of a Gotham citizen. He wondered for a quick second if he had any stolen product from Wayne Enterprise dealing with microbiology. He did a quick inventory check. He had a few Wayne Enterprise trinkets, but nothing in that field. He would have to look into that later. But then the last words out of her mouth brought his interest back to the conversation. She had brought up his favorite topic…<p>

Him.

It caused his shoulder's to fill with pride as he ran over in his head how many amazing things he had accomplished in his lifetime. Not many people could compare to his success. Let's correct that, no one could compare to his success. He rolled the tootsie pop to his other cheek unconsciously as he responded in still coherent well formed speech, "I've dabbled in many different fields from financial analyst to," he paused for a moment as he thought over his current profession, "art appreciator." He let out a soft laugh at his own joke. His eyes finally left the young woman to the very art he planned to…appreciate. The old photographs and paintings taunted him. Yes, it would be better to leave now then have a possible run in with the Batman. While he expected the GCPD to miss his riddle completely, the Batman was always only a few steps behind. "I am actually currently in the middle of an important job so unfortunately I must cut this conversation short," he said politely as he grabbed his bowler cap from his hand that held his cane. He carefully put it on his head before holding out his hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss…"

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><p>Well, a woman like Nina can't help but be at least a little attracted to cleverness. She's often wished that she actually had anywhere near the level of that characteristic that is attributed to her by her colleagues, but her 'insights' are based upon having an extra sense to draw information from and not on any brilliance of mind. Which isn't to say that she's unintelligent, but her genius <em>is<em> overrated. Not enough to miss the smirk, however. So, not only is this man intelligent, but he thinks rather much of himself because of it? Pity. It's like a little too much magnesium in a polymerase chain reaction: ruins things a bit.

Suddenly she can feel her curiosity waning a bit, even as his interest in her grows. It's true that Gotham isn't known for its brilliance in the sciences, but it is known for being a major economic center, because of its businesses, which develop new technology with the aid of a few brilliant minds of all types. And Nina was easily lured into a job at Wayne Enterprises rather than some university or hospital research lab because she knew that she'd be able to work more independently and not have other top minds scrutinizing her methods. Not to mention how she's never strong-armed into giving lectures and taking on interns and such - let other doctors explain her discoveries to those lacking the required education to understand their significance; she'd rather spend that time doing more research.

The answer he gives about his own doings is less interesting than she'd thought it would be, so she simply nods: a fancy way of saying 'a little of this, a little of that', and only marginally less vague. And there's something about that and his laughter that sets off alarm bells in her subconscious, though it only serves to increase her wariness a bit. But until very recently she's had no real reason to listen too closely to her instincts, or she might've chosen this moment to make herself scarce.

But instead she politely introduces herself. "_Doctor_ Nina Stenet," she says as she shakes his hand, "And you are?" Just because something about the man makes her feel somewhat uncomfortable doesn't mean that she shouldn't be nice. Especially since it seems that their little conversation is over.

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><p>She had a firm handshake, and her stress on Doctor did not go unnoticed to him. In a normal situation he would have had fun challenging her pride into a battle of wit, but he did have a more important engagement. Hopefully, he would run into her again. Though he had to admit he was somewhat disappointed. She seemed rather intelligent. He had expected her to pick up on the subtle details that made him world renown. Yet he couldn't be that surprised, she was still only…human.<p>

He let go of her hand as he reached into his pocket for his blackberry. He smirked at her as he pulled out his phone, "That is quite a riddle, isn't it?" Before she could respond his blackberry connected to the Internet. He had already hacked passed the firewalls for the Direct Energy Company before he had entered the front door. DEC supplied energy for a few segments of Gotham including this Museum. Preparation was a key for a perfect heist. With a quick press of a button the entire Museum went pitch black. He turned away from the woman as he built up firewalls to prevent the electricity company from turning them back on immediately. It would take the company about 15 minutes to realize they lost connection with the Gotham Art Museum, and about 30 minutes for them to work pass the firewall. However, that was assuming they had someone on staff who actually knew how to handle computers. He would keep the heist under 45 minutes just incase, but he would probably have over an hour.

"Ya like a teenage boy at a folk dance," Allen's thick southern accent drawled out in a growl of annoyance. Allen never appreciated the fun of flirtation. Edward always thought women were just another riddle to solve and flirting was the detective work behind it. A simple man like Allen could never understand that.

While it was completely dark he still heard Allen's large steps towards him and held out his hand. As expected the big man dropped a pair of night vision goggles in his palm. Oh it was all too easy. Did Gotham do this on purpose?

"Let's get started, and please hold back your unnecessary and quite dull commentary," he stated before slipping the goggles over his hat, completely ignoring the woman behind him.

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><p>Initially, that answer leaves Nina puzzled. Perhaps she would be quicker on the uptake if she'd had full use of her senses but between their odd conversation, her nagging sense of something not being quite right, and a strong disbelief that she could find herself on a crime scene so soon after having been in another one she's hardly thinking at full capacity.<p>

But after the lights go out it all suddenly makes sense: The Riddler. She'd heard about him from the news, of course, but never imagined that she'd actually encounter him. And within the same moments she's realizing this, she decides what to do. She can either try and stop him or not and, so long as he doesn't hurt anyone, the latter is the obvious choice for her. She's no vigilante, and even if she was she knows that The Riddler would be a particularly dangerous person for someone with her abilities to mess with. He might actually be able to figure out exactly what she's capable of without her explaining it to him - dangerous indeed! And when she hears someone else (she'd been too focused on The Riddler to have really noticed security guard in the background before the lights went out) she knows that anything else would be impossible - she _might_ be able to fight off a cripple physically, but certainly not more than that.

Another choice is that she can either try to flee the room or stay put, and again she chooses the latter. This one is a bit more complex; he may or may not care about her presence now, either staying or trying to flee may attract more attention to herself, and so either option may or may not be more safe for her. The only thing that tips the balance is the knowledge that there may be some need for her to interfere, which she can't do if she is not present. So she quietly takes a few steps over to where she remembers there being a bare wall and attempts to make her presence as inconspicuous as possible as she hangs back fearfully.

But just how perceptive is The Riddler? Can he spot the difference between a woman who is fearful because she's been overwhelmed by panic and helplessness and one who is fearful because she's deliberately decided not to act but is intensely afraid of the possibility that she'll be forced to anyway? Or is he not paying enough attention to realize that there's a further puzzle there? Either way, she now attempts to focus on keeping track of where the two men are. Her gift is not dependent on sight, though being able to see certainly helps. And her gift is also very limited in its usefulness in counteracting the darkness. Instead she listens to footsteps and voices, tracks the light of the blackberry, and catches the occasional glimpse of light from the night vision goggles. Not much to go on, but it's enough - if she does need to interfere then she may only have a moment's notice. But hopefully she'll be forgotten or at least ignored.

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><p>The goggles lit up the room in green. He proudly looked through every picture before focusing on the most valuable. The Ford Theater with Abraham Lincoln enjoying the play while Booth snuck out from behind the curtain. He could sell this rare piece of work for close to a million dollars. He walked over to the picture, his cane scraping against the ground. His free hand slowly and delicately reached out for the frame. He grabbed the gold wooden frame carefully almost expecting an alarm to go off with his touch. But when the room stayed silent he smiled smugly at his success. He lifted the frame off the wall.<p>

CRASH.

He flinched and whipped his head to the sound of the noise. Standing there over a crumpled picture frame was Allen looking befuddled. "Idiot, if you tare the picture it loses all value," he growled out. His teeth cracked his lollipop.

"Ya'll want the pictures fast, I'm hurryin' the process to a jumping hare speed," the man stated bending over to the ground. He plucked out the photo and shook the glass off the old document. He almost cringed by the brutality the poor photo was receiving. He closed his eyes for only a moment to hold in his inner frustration. Why did he surround himself with incompetent fools? He opened up his eyes again to see the overly muscled man. Ah yes that riddle was simple. He kept him around to fight off the Batman. Before the accident, Edward could have possibly taken the vigilante, but with his handicap he had a hard enough time running away a few times. However there was that one time….

He smirked remembering how he took his cane and slammed it on costume man's cowl as he spouted out random anagrams. Yes, he had lost his temper, but Batman had no justification in calling his riddles child play. He turned back to the frame in his hand. He slowly tilted it on the wall and unlatched the back. Like dealing with a baby bird he carefully lifted the velvet back to reveal the painting. There was a date and a signature that were starting to ware away with age. His chest filled with pride of accomplishment. He truly was a genius. He pulled out the picture carefully. He smiled smugly. The police still had not turned up, and nether had the Bat or his kids. His riddle was so simple….so obvious. He would have to make his riddle even easier next time just to taunt their stupidity.

CRASH.

Edward winced. His hand gripped slightly tighter then it should have on the aging photo. He cursed once he realized his action. Allen continued to test his patience. He shook his crippled leg shaking the gun on of the hold near his near. It caused him pain, but at this moment he was to absorb in his frustration to care. A clattering sound echoed against the tile.

CRASH.

Edward bent down with his good leg and picked up his pistol that had a perfect mold to his hand from overuse. Before his grip even tightened around the grip it was already pointing at the big man. "Riddle me this, what's thunderous, large, and powerful, but still managed to die at the hand of a man?" he asked seeing Allen freeze for only a moment before shrugging slightly. Edward wasn't surprised. He had surprised Allen with riddles before at gunpoint so the man had gotten used to them.

"Motor boats ah pretty powahful I bet many of man break 'em," he said rolling the third picture up waiting for his boss to either shot or put down the gun.

The pain in his leg became very noticeable with that one ridiculous statement. His jaw locked trying to push it away. "Wrong, the giant from Jack and the Bean Stock, but I can easily give it a new answer in the barest of seconds," he said ready to pull the trigger before his mind came flooding back to reality. If he fired a shot the security guards would race to them. He would have to punish Allen later. Allen had stopped his movement and stared at him almost expecting a bullet wound. Edward decided the look of respect from his thug would be enough for now. "Your actions should be quiet. I would rather not have pathetic not-worthy-of-my-notice guards figuring out my riddle because you gave them a hint," he growled and lifted up his gun.

Allen nodded with an annoyed frown before turning back to his work. Edward felt slightly better about the situation as he watched the man move to the next picture. Edward then slowly looked across the room. He stopped when he saw a form pushed back into the corner. The Doctor? He had expected her to run away at the first sign of trouble. Any person with any desire for their safety would automatically recognize the dangers of staying and bolt out the door, yet the Doctor had stayed. Now normally he would accuse the person of being moronic for letting fear stun them into not moving, but since he had spoken to her he knew she was rather intelligent compared to the average citizen. Could her fears really have gotten the better of her? Maybe Dr. Crane had some justification in his interests; he would have to ask him later. They could have an interesting discussion. He studied her face. Her lips weren't shaking or gasping in fear. They formed a line that sometimes turned into a frown of confusion and personal debate. Her eyes seemed to be studying the situation instead of frightfully looking for escapes. She seemed to be analyzing this the same way he was analyzing her. How very…odd. After his many interactions with the lesser species of Gotham he knew what true panic looked like, and this did not seem like panic. Again, like all of his deductive analysis, he came to this conclusion in a matter of seconds so he easily shifted his gun from pointing at the ceiling to her in a smooth movement.

"Was our conversation so entertaining you wished it to continue? Why my dear I would be delighted!" he said sounded like a boy who just found a new puzzle at the store, "What quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck, but isn't a duck?"

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><p>The lights from the goggles prove difficult for Nina to follow, probably because the lights are designed to help the wearer and not anyone who happens to be around. Or perhaps because the fact that it's The Riddler, in the dark, and the uncertainty of her own situation all coming at her at once. <em>Calm down, Nina,<em> she admonishes herself, _If you can assist surgeons, you can do this._

What they're taking is of little consequence to Nina. Sure, what the museum had on display was _interesting_, but the actual value of such things is negligible compared to what she really cares about: human life. And so she remains passive despite what she sees and hears when many other museum-goers would be up in arms. At least until she saw a gun being pointed; she's halfway to reaching out with her mind to the arm that holds it before she registers the other man's reaction - not nearly enough fear there. This has happened before...

But she scarcely has time to breathe a sigh of relief before the gun is pointed in her direction. And this time she's the target. And this time she has no trouble at all finding that seemingly insignificant nerve in his forearm that nothing more than signal the muscle that curls the forefinger. For a split second that nerve is all she can think about as true panic crosses her features, but once she has that nerve located with her as yet unsubstantial mental touch she's able to push enough of the fear away to actually _think_.

Is this a joke as well, or is this a genuine test? She knows very little about security guards or any other reason The Riddler might have to _not_ shoot, so she pores what mental energy she has that is not quaking in fear or keeping tabs on that nerve into the question. And with her attention so divided it takes her several moments before she quietly answers, "A...a drake?" Well, it's a valid answer, but is that the 'right' answer? And was that even the point of asking the question? For all she knows, he'll shoot her for getting it _right_!

Her expression remains fearful, but not nearly enough - she's _almost_ completely sure that she'll be able to stop him from firing _if_ he decides to. And while the 'almost' is terrifying, the 'if' negates much of that. In fact, the reality of the gun pointed at her has so focused her thoughts that she actually looks _less_ frightened than she was a moment ago. Instead there is a cold focus directed mainly at trying to read him, but with the distraction of keeping track of the nerve thrown in - as if she were attempting to do just a little mental long division on the side. She doesn't want to pinch that nerve - not again, and not in this man, but she will the instant she's at all certain that he'll shoot. Protecting her life is much more important than protecting her secret, after all.

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><p>He waited for tears or gasping sobs. It was the usual reaction when having a gun pointed at your head for the first time. When that didn't occur, he looked into her eyes for panic. He felt befuddled for a moment. The girl seemed more collected then she was before the gun aimed in her direction. The only hint to fear or uncertainty happened in the stutter of her voice. He was so focus on studying her expression and movements that he barely caught her answer.<p>

A drake…

He smirked. She actually got the riddle correct. She was calm, focus, and able to think through a riddle in a life and death situation. He remembered his first riddle he gave to a boy that had him held at gunpoint. _Everyone is afraid of death, right? What does it mean when they are not afraid?_ The boy responded something about the person being insane, and while most people would agree with that statement Edward knew the answer.

_The person's not in a life or death situation_. He proved it to the kid by killing him with a trap he had already set up before the kid had walked in. To think he'd find himself on the other side of the event. The woman wasn't afraid, or she had a talent for hiding it. Since she wasn't afraid, she obviously wasn't worried for her life meaning it wasn't in danger. How interesting…very interesting…

"Excellent," he said with a widening grin. His cane scrapped against the tile as he walked towards her. He was only a foot away and could hear her calm steady breaths. "My ears haven't heard a correct response in a long time. Maybe you can answer this one too. Riddle me this, what looks like Gothamnite, walks like a Gothamnite, but most certainly isn't a Gothamnite," he asked her pressing the barrel of the gun to her forehead.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Nina, this isn't the first time she's had a gun pointed at her head. Recently, even. She hasn't had the best luck with timing lately - or maybe this is a sign that she ought to stay at home from now on. But at least the first time it was a straightforward situation, even if she had so many other people to worry about. Here's it's just her and him - the threat of the brawn member of this pair is negligible to her. And she's being toyed with.<p>

_And he's reading me, and doing a good job of it_, she notes, _He knows I'm not afraid of the gun._ But what can she do about that? Even if she had any skill as an actress, she can't afford to divert much attention away from the nerve and keeping a very careful eye on his manner and movements. Without that she's probably dead, and when he presses the gun to her forehead (which she's not inclined to resist, given the fragile nature of the situation) that doubly underlines just how careful she must be.

His second riddle receives no consideration whatsoever - even though she's managed to thrust away the majority of her fear, she's brushing up against some very real limits to how many different things she can pay attention to at once, let alone managing any _depth_ of thought. And since most of it is preventing this from being a life or death situation for her, she can't simply set that aside to consider a riddle for his amusement. "Is there a point to this?" she asks with surprising calm, not even trying to hide her present state of mind, though her voice cracks just slightly - just because she isn't afraid of the gun doesn't mean that she's not horribly, horribly intimidated by the person holding it.

However, a hopeful thought comes to mind - if he knows she's not afraid of the gun, he'll no doubt be wondering _why_, so even if she makes him angry by not playing his game perhaps he won't try shooting her in favor of trying to figure that out. He's the _Riddler_, after all. Or he may decide to find out by seeing what happens if he does shoot her. _Focus..._ Watching him and keeping that minuscule mental touch of hers at the ready, she can only wait to see what he'll do now. At least having him this close makes it easier for her to see him, as dark as it is.

* * *

><p>He couldn't help the girlish laugh that escaped his mouth. No one had ever so bluntly rejected his riddle in such a way. This woman continued to intrigue him. Not only did she continue to show no sign of fear but was also respectfully challenging him. He lowered his gun not seeing a point in it anymore. She obviously knew the weapon was no challenge for her. He still couldn't determine the reason why. The best way to solve the puzzle would have been to shot her and see her response, but he couldn't risk getting caught for a trial and error experiment. He would have to contact her again on a different setting.<p>

In a riddle perhaps?

Like all his riddles it would have to be life or death, and would have to not only challenge her mind but also her body. If the brain could work pass pain then a person was usually worthy of life…oh he was getting a head of himself. He focused again on the woman in front of him. "Well dear if you would have figured out the riddle you would have uncovered the point. Laziness is rather unflattering on those pretty features, or did you not answer it because you do not require the mental capability to solve it?" he asked with a smug smirk. He knew the real reason she chose to ignore it. Her focus was elsewhere…probably on whatever she considered to keep her safe. He greatly respected her potential as an intellectual opponent, but that would not stop his tongue from firing condescending remarks.

"Would you like a lollipop for trying?" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tootsie pop. She would take as an insult, of course, but for him it truly was a sign of respect. He rarely gave off his candy to other because it was the only thing keeping him sane most of the time. However, moments like these, made his respect grow slightly for the human race. He needed to show some sign of gratification.

Still it was unfortunate he couldn't ponder over this puzzle longer. Another time…another time, he reminded himself as he waited for her response.

* * *

><p>A bit of the tension Nina had been holding eases away when the Riddler lowers the gun. Even though he could lift it again in an instant, that would be an instant's worth more time for her to react and that's not unsubstantial when things can happen at the speed of thought. And it also means that she doesn't have to be so careful about watching him, though she doesn't feel nearly safe enough to neglect the location of that nerve - not with how brazenly he waves that gun around.<p>

But the easing up of the mental load allows her to realize that perhaps being a riddle for him to solve is not a good thing even if it means that he doesn't shoot her now. In no way is it a good thing to have a super-criminal take an interest in your carefully guarded secret, especially not _this_ super-criminal.

And given the sheer amount of his life he devotes to riddles, it's not a far stretch for her to guess that even if he leaves her alone at this moment that does not mean he's through with her. After all, she would be incredibly easy for him to track down - she'd innocently given the man her name, easily found in the phone book, and due to her widely recognized talent in her field a simple web search was all it would take to learn a great deal about exactly _who_ she is. And she couldn't go into hiding; that would interrupt her research and make it too difficult for her to do much more - not at all acceptable if there was any way she can avoid it. So in a way she's been in trouble since whichever moment he realized that there was something different about her.

_He won't find out,_ she promises herself. He may be smarter than her, but this isn't an easy puzzle to solve - especially not correctly. And she's fully capable of making it very difficult for him. She's actually only used to using only a narrow portion of her gift, so even if she's forced into revealing some of what she can do perhaps she'll be able to mislead him about the nature and limits of it. And anything she can do to keep the full truth away from this man seems worth the effort. On the other hand, every truth he discovers is something she doesn't have to hide from him. And she's willing to bet that she can out-stubborn him even if she can't outsmart him. _What have I gotten myself into?_

His combination of flattery and insult seems meaningless to her - why would she care about his opinion of her? It's to her benefit if he has the wrong impression of her anyway, isn't it? But already the mind games are starting to get on her nerves, and even more than that his arrogance. "If I were lazy, I wouldn't be risking my life to spare yours," she informs him quietly but evenly. This isn't a brag or a threat, but a statement of fact - one that is completely true aside from the technicality that she wouldn't even consider killing him. She certainly _could_ and perhaps would against this threat if there was the slightest bit of malice in her. But there isn't, so that is one line she will not cross; if she's capable of killing a person with her gift then she's capable of incapacitating them just as easily and will always choose that option, even if it would be very convenient for her to get rid of someone completely.

The tootsie pop is, of course, ignored. Instead she stands there quietly and waits to see what he'll do.

* * *

><p>The lollipop balanced in the air between his fingers waiting to be taken. All it got was an uncaring glance. He felt himself frown. She disregarded the delicious substance so easily! Was he the only one who truly appreciated the riddle of the silly but quite amazing lollipop? The only unsolvable riddle in the world, and she tossed it aside.<p>

Morons…idiotic buffoons…the human race focused only on their pathetic routine life and never dug into the meaning of it or the meaning of anything else. He felt his finger teasing him to let go of the lollipop and place them back into the trigger. Any normal person who had rejected his treat would have received his response with a bullet wound, but her words reminded him of why he hadn't taken the action. Her words were just as cryptic as her entire persona. Yes…very cryptic proving once again that there was more to this woman then she willingly showed him. He had to give her a small amount of respect. She was somehow standing toe to toe with him. He imagined this was how the United States felt when dealing with al-Qaeda. You have enough power and potential to completely destroy the pitiable group, but it continues to be just out of grasp. You feel disgusted that such a disease could still best you, but also some admiration that even with their lack of resources they still persist. Yes, this woman was definitely igniting a mixture of these emotions.

He found himself smirking at the ordeal. The woman would have to learn she was beneath him, and that her arrogance was all a delusion. "Spare my life?" he repeated her words as he slowly put the lollipop back in his pocket, "An interesting phrase to choose, _Miss_ Stenet," he said stressing the Miss just to irritate her, "I would then have to assume that you have the power to kill me. No offense, but I can easily judge that you will not be overpowering me with your strength. I also can observe that you do not have any weapons on your person. Furthermore, a thorough inspection before entering this building informs me there are no secret traps or security guards near by that can kill me for you. So that leaves the riddle…how do you have the power to kill me?" As he spoke his smirk widened at his own understanding. All the puzzles were starting to fit into place. Her calm exterior, her focus, her distance from people, her lack of fear…all the pieces were slowly coming together. If he had never met Clayface and other rogues with strange powers he would never assume such a strange concept…but it fit. She was part of the small percentage of the population that had a unique ability. Giddiness overcame his emotions. Oh soo close…maybe another riddle wasn't even in order if he could solve her now.

"Boss," Allen who had been busying himself with the other paintings (actually quietly) finally came to his side. Oh how disappointing…it was about time for them to go, was it not? "Got all those paints," the big man added.

He nodded as he used the barrel of his gun to lift up the sleeve of his jacket. He peered down at his watch. They were within the time span, but they still needed to get to the van before the lights came back on. He would go now then…well after he got a good look at her face. He wanted to see what happened to features when she realized he had basically figured it out. Silly girl…your biggest slip was that one sentence. If only you could have swallowed that pride. No matter, she could not be expected to be as perfect as him.

* * *

><p>Perhaps Nina's words had been a bit rash, but she'll be very slow to regret them because of how The Riddler reacts. While they do give him just one more clue that she didn't need to give him, they also give her a clue about him. Arrogance - even after being told that she has the potential to be lethal even in <em>this<em> situation (and believing it, it seems), still the arrogance. _For a smart man, that's an incredibly stupid,_ she notes to herself, _Thinks so well of himself that he underestimates me by comparison._

The use of the wrong prefix does not irritate Nina in the least - the only reason she corrected him the first time was because of the possibility that it had been an error on his part, but this was obviously intentional and therefore just as meaningless as his other opinions of her. While she does have some sense of pride in her accomplishments, she hardly feels the need to be recognized for them, especially by him. He probably assumes that she's much more like him than she is.

Similarly, her reaction to the look of understanding on his face is probably underwhelming: _And just what does he think he's figured out?_ she has to ask herself, but it takes her a moment to figure out exactly what realization he's made - the strength of his reaction misleads her into thinking that it's something greater than it is, _So he thinks that simply knowing I can do something that other people can't is that big of a game changer? Oh there's _far_ more to it than that. Don't think you've climbed the ladder when you're only on the second step, Riddler._ And if he _does_ intend to investigate further, these sorts of misjudgments on his part this early on is a definite sign that he won't be careful enough.

And so The Riddler's words have what just might be the opposite effect of what he expects: Nina relaxes a bit further as her fear of him lowers, quickly replaced by self-confidence. It's not the cocky sort of confidence the Riddler has, just the self-assurance of one who feels that they are probably not in over their head. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock," she says quietly when it becomes apparent that they're about to leave, her voice hinting just the slightest bit at humor even though her face remains passive. If you'd told her she could even have a sense of humor in a situation like this she'd not have believed it before - this is an incalculably more dangerous situation than she'd ever imagined being in, and she's surprising herself a great deal by how well she's taking it

* * *

><p>He wouldn't state that he was stunned by her expression because well...he could predict and prepare for just about anything, but he was severely disappointed.<p>

Nothing.

No reaction at all.

She appeared even more calm and collective then she did before. He had just determined a large part of her secret, and she looked like he had just discovered the blue sky. Did she know who he was? He was the Riddler! The world renowned Master of Puzzles! The French even called him the Sphinx! Yet her relax expression and almost tilt of a smile proved that she didn't believe him to be a threat. He tried to brush off the lack of fear or surprise on her face as something else. Maybe she wasn't as smart as she appeared. It was possible that she didn't even realize that he had determined part of her secret. She was showing relief over the fact that he was leaving, and she would be in a safer environment. Yes, he would have been glad to think that way until that snippy remark left those lips of hers.

The first time she made reference to the great detective he took it as an expected compliment, but she was testing him right now. She had realized that he had figured out part of her secret and was taunting him with it. _Oh a kindergartener could have pieced his building blocks together in the time it took you to figure this out_, she mocked with her small words and relax features. He felt his grip tighten on his cane, and his head lower slightly so his bowler cap covered part of his face. If she wanted to play a game of chess with him he would take her offer. She would lose.

He smirked as he spoke, "Можно полагать, что Вы следующего Фишер, но поверьте мне, я играл в эту игру гораздо дольше, то у вас есть. Совет совет, волк всегда ест ягненка." His accent was slightly harsher then he meant it to be, but it still left his mouth in a perfect rhythmic flow. He lifted his head back up to smile at her as he reached out for her hand quickly. Before she could protest, he shifted the gun in his hand so he was still able to grab her hand. He brought it up to his lips and gave it a quick kiss, smirking against her skin. "Nice to meet you as well," he stated politely before letting go of her completely.

"Grab the artwork," he snapped back to Allen as he turned to the exit. He tossed back his trademark Green Questionmark card to mark that he was here, but it provided no riddle. His focus had changed, which meant his riddle would change.

"And don't get your greasy prints on any of them," he added. He heard Allen mutter something about not being an idiotic possum that Edward decided to ignore. Edward's cane was already scratching against the tile surface as he rushed away in anger and frustration. He still couldn't believe some normal citizen was challenging him. He had outsmarted the Batman and this one woman thought she had a chance. She would be as easy as a rubix cube. Solved in a minute. His next riddle for Gotham could wait. Batman could wait. Right now his entire attention would be on Nina Stenet, and any person with half a brain could tell you, that is not a favorable position to be in.

"I have a riddle for you Miss Stenet," he spoke quietly to himself in the darken hallways, "do you think you can solve it?" He then left the museum as easily as he had entered with the only sign of him ever stepping foot into the establishment being the card and the missing paintings.

* * *

><p>The subtle signs of anger coming from The Riddler surprise Nina. He hadn't seemed angry before, despite the fact that she'd said any number of things that he could have interpreted that way. Instead he'd been intrigued or amused, and now she made what was to her a pretty innocent comment and she'd gotten him upset. What she wouldn't give to be able to read minds - but that requires a different talent than hers. If, as she's guessed, he decides to find her again it would be useful for her to know what makes him angry, but this isn't enough to go on.<p>

The Russian is nonsensical to her - if it was Greek or Latin (actually useful in her field of study) she might have understood. As it is, she can only guess which language that was and guess that it was something meant to intimidate her - she still has plenty of that, thank you. Her hand is limp when he grabs it and she feels her heart skip a beat when he kisses it, but she makes no move to protest - the sudden movement of the gun had too much of her attention. While she figures that if he was going to shoot her he would have done so already, she can't trust that enough to not still be aware of any sign that it may yet happen. She makes no other response to this except a slight pursing of the lips.

She reverts back to passively standing there until after they've left and she finds it difficult to continue to follow that now very familiar nerve in his forearm - a sure sign that he's far enough away for her to consider herself 'safe' again. It's only then she starts to take several large, shaky breaths and try to piece together what just happened here. She's quick to give up on second-guessing pretty much every decision she'd made starting with the one to take the day off - that helps nothing. Instead she tries to piece together everything that she couldn't during the spur of the moment - what does he know and not know? What does she know about him?

She feels like she's hardly begun that process when the lights come back on, and not long thereafter then she's interrupted by the police who want to know exactly what she saw since the cameras were out and she'd obviously been there the whole time. She tells them everything and nothing - all the details that they'll need for the case and completely omitting just how much attention The Riddler paid to her during the power outage. If she were to tell the police just how intrigued he'd been by her, not only were they likely to ask awkward questions about why but they might decide to try to protect her - and having someone else between her and The Riddler when and if he decided to contact her again is not something that she wants.

If a woman with her abilities can't protect herself from him, then who can? Batman, perhaps, but she's hesitant to use even him as a shield. _I can handle him myself, anyways. He's smart but he has flaws and failings just like anyone, and he hasn't the slightest idea what I can do. And what I can do isn't even slightly unsubstantial. The only problem is keeping him in the dark about how I'm doing it if I have to defend myself._

* * *

><p><em>An: So like I said this is the first scene. If you like review and I'll post more. _


	3. Crossword

_a/n: Thanks Music is Life and KaseyKay for reviewing. Kasey you are right that is the rough translation, except instead of council board it is 'In the end." I translate the rest of foreign language in future chapters. So this is the next chapter/riddle. It took me about 6 hours to figure it out lol. Unfortunately, fanfic doesn't allow pics cause i made a legit crossword. None the less, the actual crossword isn't the important part of the riddle. Anyways hope you like. Disclaimer: I do not own any dc characters nor OC. I also only write the Riddler's perspective. _

* * *

><p>Edward opened up the Gotham Times to the comic section. As expected his homemade crossword puzzle was printed between the pages. It was easy to trick the editor into printing it. He even signed it with his name to tease those to solve it...if they could.<p>

Across

18. Why did the boy bring ladder to school?

15. What did the ocean say to the beach?

12. What did one mountain say to another?

2. What is found at the end, but changes what's before it?

16. What is it that has bottom at the top of them?

1. When you do not know what I am then I am something, but when you know what I am I am nothing, what am I?

11. What time is when an elephant sits on a fence?

5. Where are the hands pointed to the ground?

21. What's another name for a grandfather clock?

6. An word for a riddle

3. Query

10. What has a bark, but no bite?

21. What do mermaids have on toast?

Down

14. What would you call a short, sunburned outlaw riding a horse?

13. Which month do monkeys play baseball?

17. How can you make seven even?

8. Mixing yellow and blue

4. Four letter word that comes back

7. It is an old game played in Siberia

20. What do you call a Indian hitchhiker in October?

9. Rhyme rats

_Miss Stenet, can you figure it out? If you cannot you better hope Batman can solve it for you,_ he thought to himself with a confident smirk. Let's start this game of chess.

* * *

><p>Oddly enough, though her day off hadn't been nearly as restful as Nina had wanted it <em>did<em> accomplish what she'd needed it to: after leaving the museum behind Nina found that her thoughts had become _very_ clear indeed. Why having a gun pointed at her the first time had thrown her mind into disarray whereas the second cleared it up again isn't immediately apparent to even Nina, but after some pondering she realized just how different the situations were despite that one similarity.

Her first encounter with a gun had been because she had something that the one with the gun wanted; it hadn't really been about her at all. And she'd had so much more than herself to worry about, very little time for thought - her actions there had been nearly instinctive.

Everything about what happened with The Riddler had been pretty much the opposite; perhaps when he'd initially pointed the gun in her direction it had been just, well, because he points his gun at people. But after that it really _had_ become about her, personally. About a woman who could literally have a gun held by a sadist on her forehead without terror. Sure her gift meant that she'd been in as much risk as, perhaps, a skydiver, but that didn't mean that she'd known before that moment that she could do that.

And it was a powerful thing to know about oneself - as if she'd discovered her gift for a second time. Though of course, the logical step after discovering that you have power is to decide how to use it. But Nina had already made that decision, years ago: she felt that she'd been given this gift to be as much of a benefit to mankind as she could. But what that experience has taught her is just how little stands between her and that goal. It gave her a renewed determination to get that job done and not worry about every last detail of the trying situations she's been in lately.

It was with this mindset that she found out about the riddle in the newspaper. It's not her normal practice to pay much attention to the papers, but she's still anxious about the idea that The Riddler might not leave her alone - being powerful enough to face him and powerful enough to be unconcerned by him are on two separate levels, after all. So when the crossword was first brought to her attention she started picking at it, hoping that it could tell her whether his latest game had anything to do with her or would show that he'd moved on to something else.

However, it wasn't easily solved, and when she realized that it was taking precious time away from her work, her copy of it found its way into the trash before she'd gotten any but the easiest of answers. _That crossword makes no difference anyway,_ she noted to herself, _Either it's about me or it isn't, if it isn't it's a waste of time, and if it is, well, would solving one riddle convince The Riddler to leave me alone if he's taken enough of an interest in what I'm hiding to come after me now? I think not! If he's arrogant enough to ignore the possible danger _I_ could pose to _him_, he's certainly arrogant enough to justify doing whatever he wants. The only solution is to make him not _want_ to play these games with me._


	4. I Never Lose

He sat down on the couch, casually leaning his cane up against the coffee table. The apartment he sat in seemed to be in pristine perfect condition. There appeared to be nothing out of order. Every book was perfectly organized, every personal memento seemed to be placed there on purpose, and every dish was organized in its particular cupboard. He couldn't say he was surprised by the appearance of the apartment. From what he gathered from his investigation, the woman had her schedule, and hers alone. However, the cleanliness could just be the cause of her never being at home. After watching her for a few days, he had determined that the majority of her time was spent at work. He was actually surprised he had even met her at the museum with how rarely she leaves Wayne Enterprises. He half expected her to have a mattress and toothbrush set up at work with all the late nights she spent there…even on the weekends.

So when he broke into her apartment, he was not taken aback by her presence missing. Instead he decided to make himself at home until she returned. It would either take hours or the entire night, but he had no problem waiting. It would give him time to think over everything he observed including her response to his riddle. He felt his jaw tighten for a moment in frustration. At first, he watched as she intentionally grabbed the newspaper in search of his riddle. He felt a sense of pride in knowing the only reason she was picking it up was because of him. He hadn't seen her pick up a newspaper until his riddle was release, the change in pattern could only be a cause of something different: himself. _I'm ruffling her feathers more then she let on_, he had thought proudly. Before he released the riddle, her attitude still appeared unshaken which again had frustrated him to no end. It was what drove him to creating such a difficult riddle. He wanted to challenge her and remind her that their game wasn't over. Her sudden interest to the news only proved that her calm exterior might only be an act. He had been looking forward to her glances over her shoulder, and her jumpiness of sudden noises. He had prepared to see uneasiness in her expression. He had been ready to see respect for him in her eyes.

Did he get respect?

No.

The next time he saw her she appeared as if nothing had changed. She went to work as normally. She had her causal but short chats as always.

Nothing! Nothing had happened.

He puzzled over her strange reactions. Had she solved the riddle? Did she realize the actual crossword was a distraction to the true riddle that was actually hidden within the clues? Had she counted in the number of letter based on the clue's number then organized it appropriately? Did she realize finding each letter found within each clue you could make a sentence based on the number of the clue? It would then spell out: Where does a woman belong? Did she then figure out the purposeful taunt behind his riddle?

Where does a woman belong?

In the home.

It was supposed to be an insult to all of her success. Had she figured it out?

Did she realize he planned to kidnap her within her own home, and just planned on avoiding it?

He had scolded himself for making the riddle too easy, but then she returned home…unaffected. It was then he realized, she hadn't solved the riddle. She just wasn't frightened of him. She didn't even care about his riddle that had taken hours of his time. She didn't care.

He felt his grip tighten on the cushion of the couch. This woman….this woman….who shouldn't even be worth the time it took for him to dust off a piece of dirt from his jacket…had managed to lodge herself under his skin. Like a tapeworm that continues to suck the life from its inhabitant, she was slowly draining him of his senses. And similarly to those unfortunate to body the disgusting creature, he can't help but continue to feed it out of mere curiosity. He let out a disgruntle sigh. He had to give her some credit, his mind had completely forgotten about the throbbing pain in his leg.

"Robby," he stated almost bored to the boy that was fiddling in the kitchen. He heard something clash and some quick worried curses before the boy came out to the living room.

His blond hair shagged into his face making him look even younger then he actually was. "Y-yeah Boss," he stuttered out.

The boy's grey eyes always glanced downwards in fear, but also respect. At least some people knew how to treat the Riddler. "Can you grab me one of her books on microbiology. I'm certain she will have hundreds on it," he commented. The boy nodded in a hurry and ran to the bookshelf.

Edward decided to get more comfortable since they could be waiting for a long period of time. Everything and everyone was in place, and he had back up plan after back up plan if one thing did not go the way he intended. He unbuttoned his pin stripe jacket revealing the large question mark as he molded more into the comfortable couch. A few moments later, Robby, shaking, handed him a large book. Edward didn't even give the title a second glance. He opened up to the table of context and quickly found the section about his favorite human organ: the brain.

They stayed like that. The Riddler reading a book causally as if the home he had intruded was his while Robby paced back and forth nervously. The minutes ticked by into hours until eventually they both heard the doorknob moving.

Robby froze like a deer in headlights shooting his eyes straight to the door, but the Riddler continued to read as if he was deaf to the whole occurrence. The only thing that could have tipped anyone to him knowing the pawn's entrance into the game would have been the smirk playing on his lips.

Read more: .?board=archives&action=display&thread=462#ixzz1LhOwt4r5

Since discarding the crossword, Nina gave the issue of The Riddler as little thought as possible. Which certainly isn't none - she'd felt the possible threat nagging at the back of her mind and knew it wouldn't quit until she knew for sure whether or not she was his next target. But she wouldn't let that come between herself and her work. No, the decision she'd made when she tossed out the crossword was a decision that she applied to the rest of her situation - there were some things that were much more important than The Riddler, and they got priority.

Of course, every decision has its consequences, and the consequence of tossing out the crossword is that Nina is caught quite off-guard by what she sees when she opens the door to her apartment. Surprise, dismay, anger, relief, frustration, and resignation seem to compete as the dominant expression on her face for a moment as she freezes in the doorway and takes in The Riddler sitting so casually on her couch and the boy looking in her direction. But with surprising quickness and a sharp exhale her expression becomes composed and she sounds just a little disappointed when she quietly asks, "Can't resist poking the dragon just to see what it does, can you?"

Oh, how she'd hoped that she'd seen the last of him at the museum! If Nina had known that it would instead come to this she probably would have chosen to do something more there, but though she had her suspicions she'd still had that hope. Given her luck lately, she should have known better. But she does know better than to assume that this situation is only what it appears to be - having observed him in action at the museum, she has to assume instead that he's very prepared for this. At the very least he _thinks_ he has the situation under control, and that would take more than just himself and the boy unless he's excessively underestimating her even more than she dares hope.

Uncertain what she's just gotten herself into, Nina remains exactly where she is in the doorway; she'd rather not have to make any hasty decisions until she knows more about the situation, and in the meantime she might as well give The Riddler every opportunity to get the impression that he indeed is in control. Already she can see several gaping holes that she can exploit if she feels that she really has to, even without knowing what else he may have planned. But as long as those holes require too much of a show of her power and don't seem absolutely necessary, she'll note them but not act on them; already she fears what may happen if she meets him a third or fourth time if this doesn't go well.

* * *

><p>He calmly shut his book as he looked up at her with one arch eyebrow. It gave off a strange innocent expression, but the amusement on his face still couldn't go unnoticed. Her words reminded him why he had such a curiosity with her to begin with. She had wit. Not a common aspect to be found in today's society. He couldn't even be bothered to be irritated with her assumption of power. However, that might be something to do with fact that he could tell his presence was unsettling to her. Her calm exterior was the appearance she chose to show, but his peripheral vision did not miss the emotions that flooded on her face at first sighting.<p>

He smiled at her as he spoke sweetly, "Aw my dear, I can never step away from a puzzle before it has been solved even if there are dangers involved. The things we do for our passions." He paused for a moment studying her stiff form in the doorway. He already had another plan if she made a run for it, but she appeared too confident in herself to actually leave. _Another underestimate on your part._ Still, he would try to lure her in with false words. "However, I don't see how I am 'poking,' as you bluntly put it, when all I am doing is enjoying this book as I wait for the company of an intellectual counterpart," he stated with the wave of his hand as if the situation could not be seen as odd at all.

His kid lackie, though, was still frozen stiff. The boy heard dragon, and immediately recognized the hint of danger. He was too much a coward for his own good, but Edward had to appreciate the fact that his fear would stop the boy from suggesting or saying stupid comments that tended to drive his leg to edge of pain. For now, he could be ignored until his plan came into way, but he did find it humorous that the boy automatically went for the gun in his holster, waiting to pull it out at any moment. Edward felt no need to use a weapon on the woman. He only brought his pistol for the comfort of it always being at his side…almost like the tootsie pops that were always in his pocket. He had already determined that she was immune to guns in some form or another. Why try something that you know would not work? It was why this kidnapping situation had to go a certain way instead of his usual gunpoint then drug. It was more of a challenge, and god did he love challenges.

"Indeed," Nina has to agree with regard to passions. If she weren't so passionate about her work, then she certainly wouldn't be in this situation. In a way she'd chosen _this_ over taking any effort away from her own passion. There are things she could have done to avoid it, but the only ones likely to have been effective would have so hampered her work that even now she couldn't regret those choices.

His comment on her analogy is so ridiculous that Nina can't help but give an amused exhale and point out the obvious, "You broke into my home." If that doesn't qualify as a poke, then she's not sure what does! "But I suppose that another dragon feels that he's safe to play that game," she continues, "But that doesn't mean it's a wise game to play even so." What that a small hint of respect? Perhaps - she does have to give them man credit for his intelligence and the dangerous uses he has for it. But in nearly the same breath she can't also help but disrespect pretty much everything else about him more than enough to counterbalance that.

And she's not about to be lured into a false sense of security by his attempt to sound more innocent than he is. If he wants to find out what she knows he wants to know about her, he's not going to be able to do so by simply talking to her. And she has to assume that he knows that, which means at best this is a precursor to something else. "If all you wanted was intelligent company, you could have called me," she remarks dryly, though there's an odd ring of truth to those words that Nina herself doesn't quite catch.

Despite how much of her attention is directed toward The Riddler, it's not undivided enough for her to not notice that the boy still looks afraid of her. She glances in his direction and comments, "I never hurt anyone who doesn't try to hurt me first." But though there's just a hint more of kindness in her expression and tone as she talks to the boy than she's directed at The Riddler, that it's a comment on his actions and not on his youth is a small hint that she does not consider him to be immune to retaliation if the situation calls for it. The only thing his youth changes is where she assigns blame.

* * *

><p>Edward watched as the boy's shoulders naturally relaxed at the comment, but of course when the boy realized he had caught the attention of his boss he stiffened again. Edward wasn't sure exactly the emotion that had decided to crawl in the back of his mind and sit there like a predator cat, but he felt distaste for his employee at the moment. While normally he could associate that irritation to the kid's stupidity, the boy had not uttered a word. Instead it was the woman across from him who had spoken…quite kindly. He couldn't say he was surprise. She put up this wall of apathy, but she generally cared for others. He had caught it a few times in his investigation, and once again he saw it here.<p>

If he were to be truly honest with himself he was irritated that her kindness had not ever been directed at him, but he would never admit that. Besides her smart and condescending remarks were what humored him in the first place. Kindness presented no mystery. Kindness was a mere factor of ethical code that was created through a flawed society. It had no use in the challenge of minds. He found himself smirking at her comment about telephoning her. He even caught her own smile for a fraction of a moment. She didn't expect kindness from him, and in some ways, he liked to think that she enjoyed this banter as much as he did. "While I agree calling you would have been the logical step, unfortunately I forgot to ask for your number at our last meeting," he stated unable to hide the humor in his voice as he reached into his pocket for his phone. He couldn't get over the strangeness of this woman. If he hadn't been here to kidnap her, he would have almost thought they were flirting…and well maybe he was. "It's a problem easily solved," he commented as his eyes locked with hers from across the room. He held it trying to see if he could get a better understanding into her mind. He wanted to dig pass the uncaring mask she put on. He hoped to see a glimpse of that small smile that rarely appeared….no. He wanted to see a glimpse of respect, he corrected himself.

"However, since I am already here," he said finally breaking eye contact, "I have a proposition for you, and luckily this proposition is better presented in person." He opened his hand out to the couch across from him to suggest to her to come inside. Her decision here would decide exactly which plan he would be forced to use. He did hope plan B would not have to be taken into action because it was more violent then his other plan, and he would feel sad if he knew he was the cause of damaging the pretty face. While he chewed over his own options his face only showed his default smug smirk.

* * *

><p>In truth Nina has many kind thoughts even for The Riddler. She'd had them from the first moment she saw him and despite finding out who he was and the threat to herself, she still has them. But those thoughts have been shoved far into the background of her mind where they won't get in the way - empathizing too much with a threat makes fighting that threat more difficult. It is, perhaps, how she manages to be a nice person and a tough person at the same time; kindness has a time and a place, and she doesn't think that it's called for here and now aside from that one quick comment to the boy.<p>

No, this is a time to set aside both that and the anger at this trespass of her home, and instead focus in on the situation at hand. Those feelings are not acute enough to not be set aside until a better time. "You mean to tell me you found my address before you found my phone number?" she asks with mock skepticism and a touch of amusement on her face. If she's honest with herself, she actually does partway enjoy talking to him - it's a _challenge_. Of course, the part that she doesn't like is that feeling that she has to be so very careful with every word and action. And that's what's most easily seen behind her passive expression - that blend of confidence and caution of someone doing something that's tricky but not so tricky that they're _too_ worried.

When he gestures to the other couch, Nina only hesitates for a half second or so before she moves toward it. She's fully aware that this might be her walking into a trap, but then again she may have already inadvertently walked into the trap, and she has her doubts about just how well The Riddler would design a trap for her in the first place. _He still knows nearly nothing,_ she reminds herself as she closes the door behind her. She deposits her briefcase next to the couch before settling into it with a quiet sigh. She'd put in a long day at work, though she's more tired in body than in mind just now. "I'm listening," she says the moment she's seated, not bothering to hide the edge of suspicion in her voice. When a criminal breaks into your home to give you a proposition in person, odds are that it's not going to be fully pleasant.

* * *

><p>Oh goodie! Edward's face at the moment probably looked like a fat kid who just entered a candy store with a gift certificate. He did love when people were mature about difficult situations. He caught the suspicion in her eyes, but the mere fact that she had sat down was a good sign. He still couldn't determine whether the reason she chose to play along with him was out of irritation or her own curiosity. He hoped for the later, but the tired look on her face made it seem like she was only doing this to humor him. But he shouldn't be too curious on her reasoning as long as it lead to the same end.<p>

He felt himself lean off the back of the couch and towards her as a playful smirk danced his lips. He didn't lean in too close to come off threatening, but close enough to make his words seem important. "You see I understand you have a problem," he said with the causal wave of his hand, "The problem obviously being the fact that you have a well known criminal sitting in your living room. Now this present two issues immediately. First, the well known criminal is also known to be dangerous which could or could not lead to physical or mental harm to yourself." He paused for a moment his eyes falling to his nails as if he had lost interest in the conversation before continuing, "Secondly, you have had past affairs with this very criminal that the police are somewhat aware of. This is only presents a problem if I leave here with both you and I completely unharmed. Why? Well I can only assume the police deductive reasoning will lead them to believe that you are not the victim in this situation, but rather an accomplice. Why else would I travel to your apartment so soon after the robbery, but to pay your cut? The video camera catching me entering the building with a wad of cash will only further that conclusion." He stopped speaking as he looked back at her with a smirk. He always felt the entertainment of trapping a person with words. He savored it for a moment before continuing, "So basically you have yourself quite a riddle, but luckily I'm a genius and have a talent for solving such trivial things. I already actually have the solution if you are willing to hear it out."

Yes, he had ranted just a bit. It was a horrible habit of his, but the excitement of all of it was tingling along his skin. Besides while his words were truthful, he meant them more playfully then threatening. How she actually took it did not bother him the slightest.

* * *

><p>The fact that Nina chose to sit is really of little consequence to her. It's not like her physical positioning has any effect on what's really keeping her safe in this situation. And so long as what's asked of her is so trivial she might as well play along to keep everything as relaxed as possible - something she's not sure she can maintain this time, but no need to ruffle too many feathers too soon. Besides, it's definitely more comfortable to be sitting on the couch than standing in the doorway.<p>

It should come as no surprise to anyone able to recognize patterns in situations that Nina's first reaction to The Riddler's explanation of the situation is an unaffected blink, and after that she has another moment to process it, she actually smiles just a little - does he really think that it's that easy to frighten her? His first point is already very much in mind, but as for the second... "Yes, that _is_ only a problem if you leave here with both of us unharmed," she repeats almost verbatim. Does he assume that she either can't or won't act against him? Perhaps he does, given that she didn't put up any sort of a fight in the museum and hasn't yet here. But this is an entirely different situation, and she's not done figuring out the best course of action here yet. Every option is still on the table. "And that also assumes that I can't come up with several logical explanations for whatever happens here, and am unwilling or unable to tell them the _entire_ truth, including proof, if need be and..." she cuts herself off before she can launch into a rant of her own.

She shrugs that off and adds, "Oh, but I'm being rude; what was _your_ idea?" All of this ranting is actually just a little annoying to her. She'd rather he just cut to the chase and tell her what, exactly, his intentions for being here are. Because until then she won't know just how dire of a situation she is in and just how hard she'll have to fight to get herself out of it.

* * *

><p>He found himself smirking again at her condescending remarks. Yes, it had bothered him the same way it bothers someone when a fly tags along your food, but she had proven once again that her ego was just as large as his. Instead of bowing her head in respect that she lost, she <em>had<em> to prove to him that she could still find another solution. She _had_ to be right. She _had_ to be in control. He was starting to realize the reasons he found interest in her were the same reasons he liked looking in the mirror. Of course there were major differences between them, but that overwhelming confidence seemed on par with his.

So instead of frowning or muttering something unkind he smiled as he fell back into the couch cushions once again. "I don't expect you to know the basics of etiquette, so I will graciously accept your apology."

Okay so he couldn't stop the snide remark. It was part of his charm.

"But as I was saying, I have a solution…a little game...if you win," he points to her form that seemed focus and determined on deciphering him. He still couldn't get over the look of control she managed to hold even though the situation was entirely in his hands. "you may call the police department and I will stay here until they come for my arrest. If I win all you have to do is answer a riddle. Now before you answer," he held up one finger to stop her from speaking, "I will first inform you that the riddle I plan to give, if I win, will not be a direct question of your abilities. There's no point in solving a puzzle if you look at the instructions. So my dear, do you want to play?"

His hand fell back down to his pants. He reached into his pocket for a lollipop as he awaited her answer.

* * *

><p>It would be so easy for Nina to dismiss the idea outright. She may feel that she has this situation more or less under control, but she'd have to be an idiot to rely too much on the idea that she could beat The Riddler at what he does best. On the other hand, she's looking for a way out of this, and here might be something she can work with...<p>

"I'm afraid that I can't agree to those terms," she says thoughtfully after taking a moment to ponder, "I don't care about that prize. There's only one thing I want from you, and that's not it; and I'm not even sure that you're able to give it to me. Though you may very well get what you want anyway if you _are_ able to give me what I want - in fact, what you want is out of the question otherwise. So if those are your only terms, I'm going to have to decline." It's not that she's unwilling to play whatever his little game is if she can get something from him with it, it's that he's asked for one of the few things she's unwilling to risk and offering something she has no need for - the exact opposite of a good deal. Though hopefully this will prod him into offering something more acceptable.

And that she's willing to be so firm in the face of The Riddler speaks volumes about just how confident she feels right now. In fact, a small part of her finds it somewhat entertaining that he continues to sit there so smugly. If only he knew what she could do to him with nothing more than a thought... As she'd noted in the museum, that arrogance of his was a weakness. So much a weakness that she has to keep reminding herself to look at the big picture. Sure the man is in well over his head at the moment and doesn't know it, but if she's not careful that could easily change. And whatever else happens now, she'll have to face the consequences of it - a small victory now could result in a catastrophic defeat later. And thanks to her unwillingness to kill she's fairly certain that there will be a 'later' of some sort. It may prove better to accept a small defeat now that she can recover from. So while she can afford to be confident, she can't afford not to be just as careful.

* * *

><p>It takes all of his willpower not to yank the gun out of the waist ban of his pants and put a bullet straight between her eyes. If he hadn't reminded himself that she was somehow immune to the object, he would have. The gull of this woman! He couldn't remember the last time he had been treated with such little respect. Okay that wasn't completely true…he remembered the blood bath after each incident. The last time it had happened, he had taken his cane and battered the man's brains into the floor. He remembered the sickening thud of his metal cane connecting with hair, skin, and bone….until the thud sound turned softer. He remembered the smirk that danced on his face as his breathing slowed, and the riddle he offered to the disfigured face.<p>

Riddle me this, why do your elders deserve respect?

There was a reason Robby was frightened of him like a whore to her pimp. The guy's brains that had decorated their wood floorboards had been one of the boy's best friends. Did this woman truly not understand the danger he held to her? Obviously not. He had been too lenient on her to begin with. He would have gladly corrected the mistake if he knew the true extent of her abilities. Edward Nigma was no fool. What ever her power was she believed it to be a far superior to his threat. And while he was fairly certain it probably was, he also knew she wouldn't use it out of harm.

He had watched her go out of her way a few times to help people. She had found a wallet once on the ground with no information, but a large sum of cash. She turned it in. How did he know? He had left it for her and watched as she quietly and calmly walked to the nearest vendor and offered it to them to find the owner. What had the vendor done with his money? He did what any self interest human being would do…put it in his pocket.

This woman's kindness, good morals, or some sick of justice kept her chained from doing anything needed against him just as Edward's lack of information kept him from doing anything against her. They were in stalemate.

He hated it.

He almost wanted to skip his first plan and go straight to his second. Forget his attempts to challenge her with a respectful game he would just take her. She obviously held no respect for him why should he give her any. She was only a mere percentage of the dread unintelligent human race. His jaw locked as he thought over the decision. He would love to just move to plan B, but plan B was not nearly as efficient as his first one. He couldn't just skip over his first plan without even attempting it.

He kept his smirk firmly in place out of force, but his eyes closed as he let out an annoyed sigh. The true issue was swallowing his own pride that had been shot then stabbed consecutively until finally kicked to death by this woman.

The smirk finally fell from his face forming a straight thin line. His eyes stayed closed as he spoke calmly, but quietly, "What is it that you want?"

"Je suis un génie trouver un sens à votre besoin trivial devrait être assez facile pour moi. Vous ennuyeux femme égoïste," he added not even realizing he was speaking French…except for the last part that he meant for her not to understand.

It was becoming one of the many habits of the Riddler. Anger seemed to mold his languages together in his mind, and seemingly calm him at the same time. It was probably why sometimes he did it subconsciously. He opened his eyes with a wide smile feeling much better about the situation, but if she tested him one more time...well he didn't need her alive did he?

English: I am a genius meaning finding your trivial needs should be quite easy for me, you annoying egotistical woman.

* * *

><p><em>Anger again,<em> Nina notes to herself when he sighs, as any change in his overall self-satisfaction seems to be a comparative rarity. Once again, she hadn't intended to get that reaction, though perhaps this time she deserved it. She _does_ have a tendency to poke back, after all. You're supposed to stand up to bullies to get them to leave you alone, aren't you?

At the very least, she's certain that she's not going to be able to convince him to give her what she wants by being nice: "To be neither your toy nor your pawn; neither played with nor coerced. I'd have your _sincere_ promise on that. That's all," she answers simply, her voice suddenly quiet because of her doubt that it will happen. But notably, the way she emphasizes that one word seems to indicate that there's some extra meaning to it for Nina. At least when she's paying attention, she's nearly impossible to lie to even if you know how she detects such things, and if such a promise were ever made she certainly would be paying attention.

And that's all she decides to do now, deciding perhaps that it might be a good idea to avoid upsetting him further if she can - even though unlike the Russian, Nina does have some understanding of French. It's a language that shares much with English and Latin, after all, and she knows both of those. But he may as well have said it in English for all the feelings it would hurt. So long as he has such a poor understanding of her as a person, his opinion of her will not matter to her.

And a poor understanding is certainly what he has if he thinks that those traits that make her a 'good person' will stay her hand. Most of her restraint with her gift at the moment is because a mystery with no clues is unsolvable - the only act forbidden to her by her personal moral code is killing a person, and only because she has alternatives. Everything else is only subject to whether or not she deems the action 'justified' which, being a very loose rule to follow, could mean anything. If it weren't for her other reason to not use her gift around The Riddler, she certainly would have done a number of things by now. Then again, even those things she would have done would have shown a marked level of restraint on her part.

* * *

><p>She knew French…or at least enough to understand him. He almost laughed at the slight agitation that would have gone unnoticed by anyone less than himself. Of course, the agitation could be more related to an eye roll than anger at his insult.<p>

Her demand was interesting and he even felt his eyebrow crawl up his forehead in confusion yet understanding. She could have asked for anything, and he probably would have no time supplying it. Instead she asked for such a tedious request. He could easily not associate with her after this event.

But if he doesn't solve the puzzle now…could he just let it go?

Did he ever let a puzzle go?

No, he solved every challenge set in front of him. He found himself smirking at her previous statement, _I'm not sure you're able to give it to me._ Just as he had deduced her own personality, she seemed to be doing the same to him. She knew letting go of the riddle was not something the Riddler could easily do…it was not something the Riddler could ever do! His lips almost started to form the words, No, next idea, but he stopped himself.

He only had to give her that strange outlandish request _if_ she won. Did he believe that she would actually win? A small laugh left his lips as he looked back at the woman who just appeared to be waiting patiently and uncaringly. If she did somehow miraculously win then he deserved never to figure out the riddle. It would be so pathetically beneath him to lose.

Hmm.

There was no risk in agreeing. He would win. And if by some miracle she manages to outsmart him (Ha!), and he loses he deserves to be locked up in a padded call at Arkham to wallow in his own misery.

He smirked. He would have to call off his second plan. He hated being unprepared, but the stress on sincerity did not go unnoticed. If there was one thing Edward Nigma was not, it was a liar.

He pulled out his phone in a quick sweep moment, and texted Allen who sat in the stairwell waiting patiently.

No Chloroform. Plan Canceled.

He then looked up at Nina with a glint of deviousness in his eyes. He was going to win. He was going to win this game, and solve the riddle. He held out his hand and said confidently, "Deal. If I win I get to present you with a riddle. _If_ you win you will never hear or see Edward Nigma again."

* * *

><p><em>Too easy<em>, Nina's common sense instantly informs her. She doesn't even bother checking his brain for the tell-tale signs of truth or falsehood. 'If' promises are so flimsy after all, especially when the one making it is certain that they won't have to keep it. Because if they find themselves mistaken, they are too prone to changing their mind; it's all too easy for someone to make such an agreement and mean it at that moment and not hold themselves to it afterward - she's seen it happen before.

No, she needs that promise to be made under conditions that will hold. And it also needs to be a promise that she believes he'll be able to keep, which is why his rewording of her request prompts a raised brow of her own as she points out, "I didn't say anything about not seeing or hearing you again - I just don't enjoy playing as dangerously as you seem to." Which may seem to be an odd point to correct, but having him aware that it's the manner and not the fact of him contacting her that she finds problematic could prove very important later. In fact her whole reason for even explaining what she wants at all was just so that he'd be aware of just how simple it is to put an end to all of this if he wants to, because whether now or later she fully intends to bring him to that point if she possibly can.

And does she think he'd really give up trying to figure her out after how much trouble he went through to get to this point (and how much he seems to be enjoying this)? Well, maybe, but it would probably take more than winning some game, and quite possibly include her doing things that she'd rather not do. More likely she'll have to find a way for him to satisfy his curiosity in a way that isn't harmful to her - but that's not a deal she can make with someone who feels he can treat her with so much disregard. Quite the conundrum really: how does she prove that she's powerful enough to for someone as arrogant as The Riddler to truly take seriously without revealing her power?

Which brings her to this game he's proposing. There's definitely something more to this deal he's trying to get her to commit to than meets the eye, but she has no idea what it could be. And the only easy way of finding out seems to be to agree to it and see what happens. _And debating every point isn't going to help either_, she notes to herself. She gives a small exhale of frustration as she leans back in the couch, and folds her arms as she allows herself a moment to consider this problem. But though she doesn't bother to hide much of the suspicion in her expression and voice, she says, "But I'll agree to that."

But that almost feels like a lie, given how sure she is that it's a terrible thing to be agreeing to. It's no doubt all a part of the larger scheme, something he's surely put a great deal of thought in, and surely counts as a step backward. Whether the game he's proposing is something too difficult for her to win or if he doesn't hold to the deal, she's certain that she's not getting what she wants out of it. But though she doesn't enjoy playing dangerously it doesn't mean that she'll shake in fear just because she has to, and perhaps playing dangerously is exactly what she'll have to do in order to get what she wants. And taking a step backward isn't a bad idea if you think you're going the wrong way.

* * *

><p>Edward frowned at her first comment. He promises to follow her ridiculous terms, and she still critiques him. Is there no pleasing this woman? To think woman wonder why men treat them poorly…woman were fickle annoying creatures.<p>

He made sure to take note to her expressions. She seemed to be debating his offer. She obviously didn't believe he planned to stay true to his end of the bargain, not that he would ever have too. He knew he came off manipulative, but he still had decency of a gentleman meaning he never uttered a lie.

Her eyes glanced warily at him with a trace of exhaustion. It reminded him of how an older sister looks at their younger brother. The sister doesn't want to give her spoil brother what he wants, but she's tired of hearing the cries and whines. The image caused his frown to deepen for a moment. He was not some annoying child.

However, when the words of agreement finally left her mouth the anger, irritation, and annoyance washed away from him. He smirked. Finally. "While you're enthusiasm over joys me," he remarked sarcastically, "I'm glad we can finally move on from the childish banter." He glanced over at Robby who was fiddling with his hands near the wall.

"Robby get us two glasses," he stated to the boy. The small blond stiffened and quickly pushed himself off the wall towards the kitchen.

Edward turned back to face Nina who again seemed disinterested in his entire existence (well pretending to be). Edward wasn't oblivious to the thoughtful looks. "As I said before, my game of chess with you will only end if you decide to play and win. If you choose not to play…well the King can easily be placed in check," he stated calmly as the shaggy hair kid ran over with two glasses placing it on the coffee table.

"What would you like to drink?" Edward ended pointing to the glass, "And no I am not asking if you are thirsty."

* * *

><p>Ah, details... So tedious sometimes, and yet so ultimately important. But then, Nina's profession, gift, and in some ways her whole identity was wrapped up in seemingly small but important things. All it takes is one slightly misshapen protein to kill a person, and she knows this better than anyone. It would seem to her that precision of words between her and someone potentially dangerous to her could have even more drastic consequences.<p>

Once she's given her answer, Nina becomes calmer again. She's not one to agonize over a decision that's already been made, and she'd rather not waste mental energy on such an issue anyway, not when she's just agreed to play game she's very interested in winning if she can.

She remains silent until she's spoken to again, but her eyes are clearly amused after the comment about the King being placed into check. Whatever lies between her and the freedom to go elsewhere, she's fairly confident it's not something she can't deal with. Would it intimidate him if she were to back out of this now and show exactly what she's capable of as she made a grand escape, or would that only intrigue him more? As tempting as the former is, she doesn't want to risk the latter. No, she's staying right where she is because, for the moment at least, it seems like a better alternative than gratuitous use of her gift, and there may yet be a better opportunity.

She looks mildly surprised and actually just a bit more interested in what's going on when she's asked so forcefully what she wants to drink. The demanding way he says it seems to hint that it's a part of the game, and if so she's sensing that he's making yet another mistake not unlike the one that allows him to sit so confidently in her presence. "Water is fine," she replies for more than one reason.

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He couldn't help but enjoy the surprise look that danced on her face for few seconds. It was the same enjoyment he got when he saw Batman's mask crack with bewilderment, and just like the Batman she quickly hid her surprise with a deductive expression.

While he studied the woman's thoughts, Edward lifted a finger towards Robby and waved it to the kitchen. Robby nodded and whipped his body in that direction like a high-class butler. "The game is simple," he continued as he reached into his pocket feeling around for what he was looking for. "Who ever loses consciousness loses the game," he stated grabbing hold of the white tablet. Robby had appeared with the Brita water pitcher from the refrigerator. He pulled the tablet out of his pocket as Robby filled the two glasses three quarters of the way full. Edward didn't take note to the boy; his focus was entirely on the woman. He held the tablet up between his fingers so she could see it. "This," he twisted it between his fingers, "is an intense sleeping pill I was able to obtain from Oswald Cobblepot. It dissolves at the first contact of liquid. When consumed the person will lose consciousness in exactly 3 minutes and 37 seconds." He slowly dropped the white tablet into the cup nearest to him. He watched as the white tablet dissolved in a matter of seconds and became as clear as the water it sat in. "You and I will change the cups location on the table until we are uncertain where the tablet is. Then we drink. Simple, or must I explain it again for your dim witted mind?" He smiled broadly at his insult before leaning back against the couch.

The game really was quite simple, but he knew she would over think it. She had over thought every one of his actions since she stepped into her apartment. He couldn't blame her though, since he constantly did the same thing. At this point, he almost expected her to take back her agreement to play. It would be unfortunate, but if she decided not to play then he wouldn't have to keep the promise. He could still put in effect his other plan. He tilted his head to the side causing his bowler cap to shift on his forehead giving him a mischievous look. _Your move Nina_, he silently taunted.

* * *

><p>The moment that The Riddler starts explaining about the tablet, Nina's hand goes to her forehead and starts slowly rubbing it as if easing a headache. But she's silent until he finishes explaining, though the offensive question at the end prompts a disbelieving laugh that dies after the first sound. "No, I got that, thank you," she answers immediately, though her thoughtful tone indicates that there's more for her to say... but she's not immediately sure what. While it's blatantly obvious what she <em>should<em> do in this situation, what she should do and what seems right to her are different. Cue the internal debate...

"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to forfeit because I'm incapable of following the rules," she says simply once she's made up her mind. Since when has she ever chosen to do what she should? And for once this isn't a refusal out of defiance, but simply out of a sense of fair play. Sure she could go through the motions of such a game, take the guaranteed victory, but if she ever said that she was uncertain which glass contained the big, obvious, sleep-inducing molecules that would be a lie. And while she could try to simply not use her gift to win the game, she wasn't sure that she could help herself in a situation that seems this important.

Her eyes grow a bit curious as she glances from the glasses to The Riddler, wondering how he'll take her answer. Will he connect that statement to what few facts he knows about her secret, and if so what will he make of it? So long as she's being so careful to reveal as little as possible, the connecting thread between her various abilities - especially without knowing any details besides the fact of them - is still probably impossible for even someone like him to figure out.

* * *

><p>Her response was unexpected to say the least. Most would jump at the opportunities to play such an easy game. It was not a difficult task to keep your eyes on the drug-induced cup. He had already been planning on drinking the sleeping pill. He had also expected the woman to drink from her glass. The very glasses he had switched out with his own specially made ones to look exactly like hers...except for one added measure. Unnoticed to anyone unless they worked particularly with molding glass, but even then would be difficult to find. Once a person's lips made contact with the clear object they were quickly knocked out. The point of the game was not the pill, but merely to stay conscious longer then the other. It was a point any average person would easily miss. He planned on being unconscious and his henchmen taking them both to where his real riddle was set up, but instead….<p>

Instead she forfeited.

Had she determined the true riddle in this game? No, he marked off that idea as soon as it popped up. If she knew the true meaning of the game, she would have inaccurately accused him of cheating. Instead, she merely states she can't follow the rules. The only rule he described was the mixture of the glasses. Did she believe following the glass with ones eye was cheating or was there something more? Maybe…maybe she knew where the drug was without even following….no. If she could determine drugs in a simple water cup, she could determine the chemical in the glass and the drug outside in the hallway. Her suspicions would be confirmed meaning she would not be so causal about the whole matter. Her form would be much more tense. She wouldn't be looking at him with those big curious eyes, she would be subjecting him to distrustful glances. Instead, her eyes were full of a small amount of worry and interest. The worry look he recognized from the museum. It was the look she gave him when she thought she might connect the pieces. She had given him a clue, but a clue he didn't understand.

How does knowing the placement of drug relate to the surviving of a gun?

He couldn't connect a path between the two. He mentally scolded himself for the failure, but the riddle wasn't over yet. "Forfeit? I feel the need to remind you that by forfeiting you lose. So I believe by that definition you have an obligation to answer my riddle," he stated with small smirk as he rubbed his hands together. He was being forced into plan B, but by gaining the valuable puzzle piece made it worth the hassle.

* * *

><p>Seeing no sign that that tiny hint helped him (and she's sure that if it did he would have gleefully rubbed it in her face), Nina is at least able to comfort herself in knowing that her secret remains safe. "Yes, I know," she responds to the reminder, sounding weary.<p>

But even as The Riddler finds that he doesn't have enough pieces to solve his puzzle, Nina realizes that she has enough to solve hers. "Unconsciousness - the point of the game, the reason you're here. Which means that you intend to kill, kidnap, or rape me with less risk to yourself. And since you also seem _so_ interested in asking me this riddle of yours, and it takes place after the game, I assume it's the second one," she says in a rush as that realization falls into place. "And it can't be an ordinary riddle if you can't ask it here... De calcaria in carbonarium pervenire," she adds in a mutter.

That conclusion feels her with a cold feeling of trepidation that shows easily as perhaps the first example of _real_ fear to cross Nina's features the entire time he's been in her apartment. Thus far he hasn't presented her with anything that she sees as a challenge or a threat, but an unknown _something_ concocted by _this_ man will do it all right. However, the fear eases just slightly as she reminds herself just how many advantages she has - and they don't stop at her gift. Still, this gamble with her personal safety seems to be giving her more and more uncertain odds, and she doesn't like that at all.

But a look of determination gradually wins out as she says, "If I'm right, I'm willing promise my full cooperation if I can keep my consciousness." Because if she doesn't cooperate, the only alternative is to fight back, and she rather suspects that she has more to gain if she saves that as her own Plan B. And if she's going to cooperate, she might as well do so in a way that allows her a better margin of safety - who in their right mind would trust their unconscious selves to someone they don't trust at all?

(Translate: Out of the kettle into the furnace)

* * *

><p>His fingers tapped along the edge of his jean-covered knee as he chewed over her words. She had first deduced his true reasoning of coming here. He couldn't say he was surprise. He hadn't tried to hide his intentions from her, especially at this point in the game when the promise had already been made. Her request is unsettling. It would be pleasurable to not lug around dead weight and enjoy challenging conversation, but her being conscious would ruin other things in his organize structured plan. The comment in Latin surprises and humors him. Latin was almost a forgotten language, and yet it slipped off her tongue easily.<p>

His fingers stopped moving as he focused his eyes on her. Her figure had tensed only slightly and the breathing had picked up just barely. The way her lip was almost frowning as if she was lost in her own thoughts was the true clue to him. She was scared. Not enough to obviously show it, but enough that it unsettled her thoughts. The emotions almost made her look cute, like a stray dog stuck in the rain type of cute…or pity. "I don't believe you can call it kidnapping then if you are willingly coming," he remarked causally at her logic, "I will have to inform the GCPD to take that horrible offense off my record."

He found himself smirking as he reached out for his cane and pushed himself off the couch. He pulled out his phone from his pocket with his other hand. As he walked to the door he sent off a quick text before gracefully putting the blackberry in its place. When he reached the door and turned to see Nina still sitting on the couch he stated dryly, "Stare decisis?" He slowly opened the door. He then waved a hand dramatically to the exit like a theatrical performer bowing at his performance.

(Translate: Stand by Your Decision)

* * *

><p>Having made that bold offer, Nina can only hope that The Riddler will go along with it. The other possibilities are... a lot less pleasant for<em>her<em>at least. But why wouldn't he? If she cooperates, that would make this whole thing a lot easier for both of them, wouldn't it? And she has to breathe a small sigh of relief to herself when his words seems to indicate his acceptance; at the very least she can rest assured that she's probably safe until they go wherever he wants to take her - and she'll gladly take that sense of security, however temporary it may be.

And once Nina feels that small window of opportunity to relax, his complaint about the definition of what's happening strikes her as funny in a dark sort of way. "Hmm, you're probably right," she agrees with obvious humor in her voice, "I should try not to throw around such accusations so easily; I wouldn't want to risk accidentally tarnishing your good name."

When The Riddler gets up, she remains put, merely because she doesn't want to give him cause to worry about her by acting without direction. But when he does, she's quick enough to comply, answering his question with: "Fides servanda est." A noble sentiment that she tries to follow whenever she can. Standing, she calmly walks through the door as requested.

(Translate: A promise must be kept)

* * *

><p>As she walked by he kept his devious smirk hidden on his face. Finally, she had actually overlooked one of his actions. He almost started to believe her deductive skills were as talented as his own, but she took his actions as an acceptance instead of an avoidance of the question.<p>

His posture straightened as she walked into the hallway. Before he left, his eyes locked with the small boy still waiting in the apartment. He nodded for him to follow, and as always, similar to a dog, he obeyed. Edward then turned to the woman waiting for him and walked right up to her. He couldn't help the humorous smile playing on his face. This situation was very different from most. He didn't usually have woman waiting for him…so calmly…especially when they are about to face a riddle. Yet there Nina stood with a small smile on her own face. He couldn't help but enjoy it.

Like a man taking a woman on a date, he gently placed his free hand lightly on her lower back. "I must admit I never planed on you walking out with me. Most are quick to stupidly run from the unavoidable," he said slightly louder then usual as he led her pass the stairwell and towards the elevator. "I have another fun childish riddle for you though to pass the time," he commented as he reached out with his cane and pressed the down button. His grip on her back only tightened for a moment so he could keep his balance off his leg. "A man went 20 days without sleep, yet he didn't feel the slightest bit tired. How did he managed to do that?" he asked not at all effected when Allen's big hand quickly covered Nina's mouth with a chloroform rag.

* * *

><p>Even someone as strong in power and will as Nina has their faults, and one of them is a tendency to be a bit more trusting than she really ought to be. She's only human, after all, though as faults go it's one that she doesn't mind having. It's not in her nature to expect deviousness, though that's something she's quite likely to learn very quickly in The Riddler's case. In fact, if she'd known about the true nature of the glasses used in the game she didn't play, she might have anticipated what happens next.<p>

Instead she allows herself to be led like the proverbial dragon held by a thread. And his comment reminds her why: while she's she's _almost_ completely confident that she can run from this situation, she's unwilling to do what she'd need to in order to hide effectively. And it doesn't seem very likely to her that by simply getting away now she'll convince him not to try again. So in that way, this situation is unavoidable so she might as well deal with it now.

"Running away from the unavoidable just makes you tired," she maxims. Plus it reveals several truly _helpful_ hints about her abilities, and of course she doesn't want to give him that if there's a way to avoid doing so. And while the odds are good that she'll be forced to give him more 'hints' before this is all over with, if she's lucky they'll be less blatantly obvious than the ones that would occur in a dramatic exit. In her experience, the more complex the thing you're trying to affect is, the more options you have. And the more likely that one of those options will produce completely baffling results.

When he asks her another riddle, it proves to be sufficiently distracting. She has some medical knowledge on the subject of sleep and the lack thereof, so she could easily come up with several perfectly logical answers that nevertheless are probably not _the_ answer. Of course, she can hardly begin to try and work it out before the rag is abruptly forced onto her face.

Her first reaction is purely reflexive: the rag muffles a cry of alarm, and her body tenses in preparation of a struggle. She knows what chloroform smells like, and automatically holds her breath after only enough of a whiff to make her feel somewhat light-headed. But that only delays things a little because she hadn't been prepared to hold her breath and so she's now unable to do so for more than a few moments. And the thought of fighting back only flares up briefly before it's discarded; hadn't she _just_ reminded herself of why that was a bad idea?

Instead her eyes shift over to The Riddler, and they hold no more fear than usual. And not anger either - that will come when she has a bit more time to appreciate the situation. No, she's feeling very, very disappointed. When she breathes again its in the steady pattern of someone doing so deliberately rather than the gasp of someone forced to do so by the need for air, and she blacks out quickly after that.

* * *

><p>His eyes focused on hers as she took in a natural breath. He couldn't quite place the reason the look bothered him. Instead of smirking like he naturally would when he got what he wanted he found himself frowning. His ability to easily read a face told him she was disappointed.<p>

Disappointed…

Disappointed in what? He naturally thought it was another attack on his pride. Had she expected more from him? Had she thought this plan rather cliché and predictable? Admittedly to himself, his plan B was not creative, but she was still manipulated into the situation. It couldn't be that predictable. Maybe, she was disappointed in herself for trusting him…yes. If he had been in her place he would be greatly disappointed in himself for missing the most obvious clues to his intentions.

As he watched her lids close and her body go limp in the large man's arms, he pushed his thoughts away. It didn't matter. He had won this part in the game, and he would win the next. Edward smiled confidently at that thought as he leaned towards the unconscious woman. He jokingly patted her check softly with his gloved hand as he answered his riddle, "He sleeps during the night, dear. Simple, but I believe it has been too much of a challenge for you that your brain shut down. That's okay. Rest up for the next one."

He straightened his form to look at Allen who just finished rolling his eyes. The big man took the rag and stuffed it into his pocket before swinging the woman over his shoulders. "Ya should just take the gal to the pictures," the big guy mumbled in annoyance.

Edward decided to ignore the stupid comment and head back to the apartment. He reached into his jacket's inside pocket and pulled out a card that had a green question mark on the back. On the front of the card written in typewriter font read, "ED WEEPIER OGLE PHOTO." As he passed Robby he commented off handedly, "Hold the elevator." The blond boy furiously nodded his head before running off towards the elevator where Allen and Nina were.

Edward opened the door to Nina's apartment as the elevator let out a ding to its arrival. He took in the apartment once more before walking over to the two cups full of water. He placed the riddle right beside the cups. _Are you playing the game Batman or have your skills at chess become rusty?_ he thought as he went back to the exit. The man in a pen stripe green jacket and bowler cap smirked, shutting the door behind him.

"Checkmate."


	5. Guilt awful emotion created by society

a/n: Thanks for the reviews Music is Life, ChanceORiley, and Nadezhdaa. I'm glad I have the Riddler's personality down! Woot! Though that can't be surprising, I am amazing lol jk

um...oh disclaimer thing: I don't own dc or any character within the dc universe. i do not write nina's part. i only write the riddler. this is a role play game/story thing. On that note: riddler's plot certain of change randomly because other players failed their part or dropped out of the community so i was forced to shift the plan. it's not painfully noticable, but it's enough. But this is more of a romance story then in actual thriller one so it's not the end of the world. Anyways hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p>Edward sat in his comfortable black leather chair. A large desktop screen sat on top of his oak desk staring back at him. His cane was leaning against the desk that was also covered with scrawled notes, building plans, scribbled designs, and tootsie pop wrappers. His gloved hand moved to the mouse causing the screen to light up. A giant green question mark was his background. The mouse icon moved to the window bar at the bottom of the screen. He clicked on the minimize video expanding it to the full size of the screen. The camera above his screen lit up as the sound from the room he was filming flooded his own room.<p>

One of them had woken up and from the crying and whimpering he knew it was the random hooker he plucked from the street and not Nina. Luckily, he had duck taped the hooker's mouth or the noise could be worse. The screen flickered then became solid revealing the picture of a cement bricked underground room miles away from him. There were two women in the room both strapped down to metal chairs that were bolted to the ground. The hooker with tear stain make up down her face had a gun bonded to her hand that faced Nina. Another gun was attached to a metal stand pointed at the hooker's head. He looked on his desk and saw the control to that very gun before looking back in the dark barely lit room on the screen. Everything was in place. He wasn't exactly sure what Nina's powers were, but he knew it had something to do with a gun. He also knew the weapon wouldn't hurt her, so he added a few other things to the room to make it more of a challenge. If there was one thing that Edward always did and did well, it was preparation. He not only roped her to the chair, he chained her. He not only had the door locked to the basement room, but also buried with junk from the old rotten hospital guarded by Allen.

Where do people go to die?

A hospital. The hospital he had chosen had been closed down after not keeping up with health standards. It now was rotting away in the Narrows. Just in case her powers helped her escape not only from the chair, the gun, and the door, he had two more tricks up his sleeves. One of those tricks was in the vent and the other around the hooker's neck in a device that looks strangely like a necklace. Yes, Edward was prepared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lollipop as he waited for Nina to wake up. Just as he's unwrapping the candy, he saw movement from her direction. Oh goodie! She was waking up.

* * *

><p>Nina stirs, though for a moment it's apparent that she's not fully awake yet. Her thoughts have the consistency of pudding, but bit by bit they fall into place. <em>What's going on?<em> Memories return - seeing The Riddler in her apartment, the scent of cloroform... _Am I okay?_ Her attention shifts momentarily to her body - sore here and there from being handled roughly, but otherwise unharmed. Her mind is a different matter, at least for the moment: the cobwebs just don't seem to want to clear.

But the real point to Nina is that she's obviously still alive: when she'd allowed herself to be knocked unconscious, she'd strongly expected to wake up again, but she'd been by no means certain. The Ridder proved that she couldn't be certain of anything around him. At least, not without being particularly careful about it. She doesn't mean to make _that_ mistake again. But for the moment it's enough to know that she's alive and well.

When her mind finally registers the somewhat muffled sound of someone crying, her attention abruptly shifts to the external; she's all right, but someone else obviously isn't. Her eyes flutter open and blink uncomprehendingly for a moment at the face of the woman in front of her. _Where am I?_ Stupid question, really; and she's quick enough to set it aside when her sluggish brain stops puzzling over the presence of the woman long enough to notice the gun attached to her hand. And suddenly, she feels much more awake: nothing like a bit of adrenaline to clear up a foggy head.

_The gun in the museum - he's trying to figure _that_ out._ she realizes instantly. And her first instinct is to immediately apply the solution here that would have worked then; disable the arm holding the gun, and she's safe from it. But the presence of the second gun stops her just as quickly. Obviously, there is more to this, and if she doesn't find a way out of it then there's more than her own life at stake. And she's guessing that she doesn't have a whole lot of time to do it in, which means that worrying about how she's bound will have to wait - she's guessing that figuring her way out of that one won't be easy for her. Escape can wait until after she's certain about survival.

The surprise and realization on her face are quickly pushed aside in favor of a furious focus. Because angry she is - if the way that she was taken wasn't enough to anger her, forcing _this_ particular situation on her is more than enough to enrage her. Not enough to distract her thinking, but enough to give a particular intensity to her expression as her eyes start to dart around. It's a particular talent of hers to take a problem, set aside her feelings about it, discard everything she knows won't help her from the beginning so that she doesn't spend time thinking about it, and dissect what's left until she finds a solution.

And she's not going to waste time in getting started, even though evidence is ample that more elements will be added to this problem. It's in the fine details of the situation that she'll find her answer, and her eyes flick around at a few of the pieces that she may be able to work with: The gun in the other woman's hand - where is it aimed and can the other woman control where it's aimed? And is the other woman as restrained as she is, or less substantially bound? The camera above the television - is there any visible wiring or connection to power it or send a signal out, or is it wireless?

But most of her attention goes directly to the gun on the stand. Obviously, with nobody around to fire it, it's controlled remotely, but is there any visible wiring or connection for it? At the moment disabling it somehow would seem to be her top priority. Unlike the inside of a human being, which she knows intimately, mechanical and electronic things are foreign ground. But that doesn't make her helpless: you don't have to have a solid understanding of something in order to break it.

* * *

><p>Edward had forgotten how much he loved these personal riddle. There was a sense of pride in knowing he had perfected the trap by taking into mind the personal flaws of the person. It not only showed he understood how the average human mind worked but also how the particular thought process in the certain individual he was testing. Nina had been more difficult then most because she was a riddle in her own, but still he managed to use what he knew about her to his advantage. He knew she had a power. A power she had yet to show to him. He hadn't taken that aspect into consideration until he thoroughly was putting the riddle together. Why?<p>

Why had she not shown her power yet if it could have prevented her from getting in this predicament?

He battled through a few theories. The first was that her power couldn't have saved her from the predicament, and therefore was not a power he should be afraid of. While the theory made logical sense he couldn't accept it. Nina, like him, did not lie. How did he know? Because there were certain expressions and habits that appear when a person is lying. She had never lied to him. She gave him cryptic responses, but never a lie. So when she warned him of her threat, he took her seriously. She had a power that could be dangerous to him….so why had she not use it? The next theory that seemed more plausible was that she wanted to keep her abilities a secret for a reason he didn't know. Still, allowing yourself to be captured only to keep a secret seems a bit like an overkill, but he didn't write off the idea. The last theory that was the most stretched but also the most probably was that Nina avoided effort situations. In other words, she took the simplest route not because it was easy but because it avoided exaggerating it into something bigger. The biggest clue was when he gnawed over the last look she gave. Being Edward Nigma, one of the most egotistical men alive, he couldn't let the look go. It felt like an insult to his intelligence. So of course he spent the remainder of his night pacing back and forth thinking about it. Her look led his thoughts to thinking about her lack of struggle. She didn't fight it. She accepted it. It was a smart idea. Why waste energy on the inevitable? But then he realized she hadn't struggled with anything he had presented. It wasn't like she didn't care; she just never saw the aspect of protesting being worth it. With that newfound revelation he decided the point of the riddle could not only be about figuring out her powers, but to also test the boundaries of her patients. When will she just stop using her power because it's too much of a hassle? For that reason he went over his riddle with extra precautions, adding things that were truly simple but annoying when piled on. It not only made for a very carefully done riddle, but also an annoying one to the attendee. That was one of the reasons that rope and metal chains kept Nina's hands, arms, torso, legs, and neck bound to the chair with little to no movement. He had to yet to see Nina's patience break, but he would see it today.

He personally couldn't think how any person could escape. The hooker was bound the same way except layered and layered of duck tape kept the gun in her hand and to the arm rest of the chair so the gun point just directly below her heart. He couldn't have the hooker ruining it by misses the spot he wanted. Therefore, if Nina managed to escape her confounds she would have to deal with the annoyance of the bounds once again plus tape.

The stairwell out of the basement had rotting steps with one missing. She would have to risk the irritating climb. She would then have to deal with the metal door that was not only locked but also covered with weight. Did she have the patience for it? Probably not. Not to mention the second weapon pointed at the other person. He had decided to add the other person after realizing that not only does Nina choose the simplest route but also chooses the one that doesn't hurt anyone. By adding another person he just added another annoyance. By adding the weapon that was powered by a long lasting battery hidden at the bottom of the metal stand he was able to threaten that life.

He had certain of one thing. If Nina happened to escape, he would not only deduce her powers but also drive her to the point of insanity and frustrations, making her feel the exact way he has felt during the whole ordeal with her. Retribution.

He watched the screen as Nina's eyes widened at the situation she was caught in. Already he was feeling giddy with the amount of irritation and anger that appeared almost immediately on her face. He brought his green lollipop to his lips in a thoughtful expression as he observed. He was quick to note how the irritation completely disappeared to calculating. He frowned only slightly. If she somehow escaped in a quick easy movement he would be sorely….pissed off. He hadn't even considered if she could just walk through objects at will. Damn it. Was he off his game? It was too late now. If her power was mobility then he would still solve the riddle…he just wouldn't have challenged her….and wasn't the challenge of your partner the main point of riddles?

He pushed it out of his mind for now. It was time he welcomed himself. It was only polite. He was a gentleman after all. "Good morning, Nina! I hope you had a restful evening and your mind is ready for a riddle" he said pointing the lollipop at the camera on his side as it wirelessly transmitted the signal to her in the run down hospital basement, "I personally hate sleeping in chairs, but sleep is sleep. We must appreciate the rare activity. Not all of us can be like the Joker who gets 2 minutes a night and still goes around dancing like a hyperactive child."

* * *

><p>Electronics are not Nina's 'thing'. While she admires technology and knows that she could have gone that route with her gift, medicine had seemed so much more... <em>direct<em> in helping people. Though at the moment she's wishing very much that she'd learned more on the subject. Still, it seems an obvious first step to start feeling around for wires she might be able to weaken or break near the triggering mechanism.

But before she can get started, the sound of The Riddler's voice seems to completely break her focus. Though it's not his words alone that do it, but because his pleasant-seeming words cause her to recognize that she's not thinking about this situation properly. Looking up, she closes her eyes for a brief moment, centering herself, before she turns instead to look at the woman in front of her. It's not difficult for her to tell that whoever this woman is, she's not leading a life that Nina would approve of. But that doesn't lessen in the least the amount of compassion in Nina's eyes as she mutters, "I'm sorry that I have to do it this way - but if it was just about the two of us..."

No, how can she explain what she's about to do? Especially quickly and within hearing of The Riddler? Even as she attempts to apologize she reaches out with her mind to the other woman's forearm and quickly locates the two nerves in the woman's forearm that lead to the hand, and doesn't hesitate to cause both of them enough damage so as to render her whole hand unmovable for half an hour - and if it takes longer than that to resolve this, she won't hesitate to renew the injury. It's utterly painless, does not remove sensation, and in fact until the woman tries to move her hand and can't she won't notice. Nina can't afford to take any chances with what she might do - if she's afraid to the point of tears now, there's no telling what she might do when she hears what Nina's about to say.

It only takes a few seconds, and when it's done, her eyes flick over to the television as her face transforms from kind to fierce. If he wanted her angry, she is angry. If he wanted her to lose her patience, that's gone too. She should have noticed that the woman - a stranger also obviously here against her will - was a play upon her emotions to begin with; this isn't just about the museum, this is meant to hurt her emotionally. However, it's flawed; she has enough self-understanding to see that this seems designed for someone _almost_ like her, but not her. And beneath her anger, she feels just the slightest bit of pleasure in knowing that what she's about to say will be totally unexpected, even though that's hardly the reason she's doing it. "I'm _almost_ certain that I could save her from that gun, but I'm not going to," she begins, her voice cold and her words very quick, "You obviously have a very fundamental misunderstanding of me as a person to be dangling someone's life in front of me. And since that's now a very dire problem for _her_, allow me a moment to explain myself better to you.

"I'm sure you've guessed that I'm a powerful person. What I don't think that you realize is just _how_ powerful. _I_ don't know how powerful I am. I have my blind spots, my limitations, but between them there's a plane of ability that I've never found an end to, so in a way my power is limitless. So why have I put up with you? Because I fear you - what you'd do to me, what you'd force me to do to you. I don't need to hold that level of fear for just anyone, you know - I could explain the whole thing to most people and they just wouldn't 'get' it. This situation is a prime example of why you're different - so close to perfect. Though I see nothing right off hand that will kill me or that can't be overcome, and I frankly like my odds against any nasty thing you've hidden, I'll have to be creative, and perhaps I'll make a mistake.

"But that could be a problem for _you_ because another thing that I don't think you realize is just how valuable I am to you. Now I'm not going to pretend that I understand you as much as you think you understand me, but there's ample evidence that you want one thing that I could give you." She pauses, and suddenly the anger on her face is broken by another expression - guilt. But her voice is firm as she continues, "Something that I'm certain you want more than anything you could gain from this riddle of yours. If you'd ever stopped wanting to harm me, I would have offered it to you freely by now." By the end of that statement the anger and guilt has mostly melted away into sadness. She doesn't want it to be like this!

But her eyes refocus as the anger boils up again, "I'm not telling you any of this because I'm begging for mercy or any other stupid thing. I'm telling you because you're right that I care about what happens to this woman. So much so that I promise that you will lose me forever if you shoot her. And that's not a threat, but a fact; I tend to get a little over-emotional about such things." Obviously. "So I leave her fate up to you. And while you're deciding, perhaps I'll start working at a problem that's solved in a more obvious way than the guns? Purely for your entertainment, of course."

For a moment she seems to finally be finished. It's her patience that normally holds her tongue for her. In fact she's probably just said more now than she's ever said to The Riddler before combined. But mere moments after she glances away to start pondering which part of this situation needs her attention next, her eyes flick back to the television screen of their own accord. Frowning and sighing, she mutters to herself (but probably not quietly enough), "And it figures that _now_ I'd be distracted by an unwanted infatuation."

* * *

><p>…<p>

To say this was unexpected was an understatement. He hadn't even explained the rules of the game, and she had already managed to twist it to her favor. This was becoming predictably Nina. How was she always able to meet his challenge and surpass it? Scratch that he was still in control. His gaping mouth and the lollipop that was on the verge of falling out was all a show. It wasn't like she just told him she would help him because…

Pause.

His brain felt like a beehive inside a beehive with each bee having their own intelligent argument. He hadn't had this type of swarm of mental thoughts since his introduction to the Batman. Had she just admitted to being infatuated with him? Of course she had….what woman could resist his irresistible charm and dashing good looks? A woman who was about to die at his hands that's who. He stared at her expression that wore a mixture of guilt and focus. Normally, if this had happened he would have written it off as a desperate ploy to gain his sympathy and allow the person free, but Nina wasn't like that. As he had determined before, she was honest. Painfully so. Making him…confused for the first time in years.

Why did he care? Why did it matter? Those were the riddles he asked himself.

If the girl hated him for killing a pathetic whore, it didn't halt his life in anyway. He didn't need her power no matter how interesting it could be. He worked based off of intellectual strategy not cheap parlor tricks. The only point of this was to deduce her power to solve the riddle. It was never to gain Nina's powers. It was to gain knowledge, the most prize possession in the world. He didn't care about Nina. Yes, she held some interest to him in her ability to keep up with his intelligence. Yes, her witty remarks both humored him and infuriated him. Yes, she never acted like the zombie masses of humanity. Yes, she had surprised him on multiple occasions. Yes, she still looked very attractive with the slight bruising of her skin and mess of her hair…especially with that determined focus look on her eyes that were directed at the weapons in front of her.

But she was just a woman. A person with nothing more but a lower IQ then him.

A person who had successful distracted him from even observing her power. There was a spark in the back of his mind like a nagging feeling. He missed something. There had been a clue in her long speech, but he became so clouded with the last revelation he had completely forgotten it. Was that her plan? To toy with him so he overlooked the obvious. What was he doing? He was letting silly animal instinct distract him. When did he start acting like a teenage boy at his first prom? He muddled through his thoughts trying to figure out the subtle clue, but kept getting distracted by images of Nina dressed in Query or Echo's outfits. It had been a long time since he had a female henchman, but the old outfits still sat in the back of his closest as a mantle to his…odder days. He couldn't help the smile from cracking on his face. The image was too absurd. Nina helping him in anyway seemed to absurd.

Stop this.

There was a clue. She said something about disabling the gun. Yes, there it was. She could disable the gun, but she wasn't going to. She hadn't mentioned the gun pointing in her direction. He smirked. _Oh Nina, you save your own life while risking the innocent. Maybe you are crueler then you believe_, he thought with a laugh. But it did give him insight into what she could do. The gun wasn't destroyed, but she could stop it from firing. She hadn't moved…so some type of telekinesis was involved. Interesting. It made since that an intelligent woman would have a power dealing with the strength of the mind. He wondered what the limits were. Could she only affect metal…or was anything in her reach? He felt slightly back on his game with this newfound clue. He wasn't so distracted…

He wasn't sure how long he probably sat there staring at the screen with a befuddled look of too many emotions to name. But he finally smirked tilting his head to the side as he stared at the Nina's side profile. "Dear, you're jumping ahead. I haven't even told you the riddle, yet you're already trying to tie my hands behind my back," he said calmly deciding to ignore the comment. Unfortunately, he couldn't control the annoying increase in his heart rate.

"But I guess I should have anticipated that from a very capable woman. I should inform you though, that the choice of her death isn't in my hands but in yours and hers. I'm not a murderer you see. I give people an option, and if they are unable to make the right choice it could lead to their death. If they are smart enough with the standard of intelligence that I deem respectable then they walk a way. For example, with this situation, I will present three riddles for you to answer. If you answer all three correctly you leave. If you miss one well we move into phase two. One of the guns will fire. Heather has the choice to either fire her gun or not. If she doesn't for whatever reason the gun at her head will go off. No matter what, one of you walks out alive, which is quite generous of my usual riddles. What makes this more interesting is how your power fits into it all? I know you can save both of your lives. You've just admitted to it. Now don't assume that cheating will go unnoticed because it won't, but I have a question for you to mull over before this actually begins," he paused for a moment. He didn't know why he felt the need to defend himself to her, but yet he continued, "If you have the ability to save someone life but don't, does that not make you an equal participant in their death?"

He waited patiently for an answer, but it didn't seem enough. Did she see that she was equally in the wrong here? Did she understand that he wasn't trying to kill her? The difficulty of his riddle only showed that he had respect for her, but if she was unable to solve it then it was her own fault. If she willingly let things happen, it was her own fault. Self-responsibility. "I see the hypocrisy in your speech Nina, do you?" he muttered out only slightly annoyed.

Heather couldn't stop crying. She shouldn't have gotten in the car. She should have rejected the money. It wasn't worth this. She thought of her baby boy at home. If she died he had no one. Her neighbor would only take care of him for so long, and then the social workers would come. Her boy would be in the system. No no no no no. More tears streamed down her face as she struggled in the constraints trying to escape. Her arm hold the gun felt dumb for some reason. It felt like she couldn't even move it, but she chalked it up to the ropes and chains and…tape! God why did this happen to her? She heard the other woman's words to the camera. She knew this sick man! This horrible sick disturbed man. Heather had heard of the Riddler. Who hadn't? He was mostly known for his heist, but every now and then the police would find dead bodies in some elaborate death trap. It was so unfair! Why her? It obviously had nothing to do with her! Then he heard the woman's last statement. Infatuation! You got to be kidding me! You're risking my life because you're infatuated with this killer! The Riddler's response caught her off guard. It almost seemed a bit more tender and kind then it had a moment ago. Was this their sick idea of date! But when he said she had the option to either kill or be killed, she calmed down only slightly. She didn't like the idea of killing someone. She had only done it once when she about to be raped, and like that time her life was more valuable to hers then anyone else. Her life and her baby boy. This woman wants to be with a psycho she has to face the consequences. Heather tried to calm her breathing, but the tears kept coming. Adam, I'll get home…I promise.

* * *

><p>It would be a lie to say that Nina is unaware of the effect of her words on The Riddler, but she has more important things to do than delight in how easily she's managed to perplex him. Even though all she really had to do was be herself, and she's never considered herself to be all that confusing - at least, <em>she<em> understands herself very well. No, instead she forces herself to concentrate back on her surroundings.

In a way she's now put herself into another predicament. While it's possible that she may be able to get out of this situation while keeping her power as concealed as she'd like to, she's now essentially wagered that The Riddler would be tempted enough by the idea of having a workable relationship with her against someone's life. And that's something she takes very, very seriously. But while she's certain that if she fully explained what she can do to The Riddler he'd be duly impressed - not just by what it is but perhaps also by the knowledge and skill required to use it - there's still the risk of what he'd _do_ with that information if he discovered it in the wrong time and situation. Still, for Heather's sake she's willing to take some risks - perhaps she'll have to try to do things that reveal the power and potential of her gift while keeping the connection between her various actions difficult to piece together. Tricky, but perhaps possible, and things may very well turn out okay even if she fails.

But that means that she needs to essentially show off in as many inexplicable ways as possible, and if keeping her gift hidden in this situation is difficult then so is showing it intentionally. This trap is, as she said, close to perfect and she doesn't have much to work with. And perhaps unfortunately for Heather, she's the only thing in the room, other than Nina herself, that is easy for her to manipulate. Reaching into Heather again, Nina locates the hypothalamus, and does the equivalent of tampering with her thermostat, turning it up too high in a way that her body will soon correct - a short-lived fever. And when it does, it will take some rather heavy sweating to set things right again, which is the entire point, though the full circle of that will take a few minutes.

In the mean time, Nina's attention now goes to her own bonds, and she dryly remarks, "Turnabout is fair play," when he protests about her tying his hands. She doesn't fight against the chains and ropes, only looks at them more carefully. Specifically, she looks to see if there are any visible locks or other connectors in the chains that would fail more easily to her gift than trying to tackle the chain itself. Otherwise she'll face the tedious process of trying to locate one using her gift alone, or the very time consuming process of trying to weaken a link. The ropes come second as they'll be easier if she can move more.

But identifying the potential weaknesses of her bonds isn't a very thought intensive process, so she listens carefully to The Riddler's words, saving all her commentary for when he's finished. "Unfortunately for Heather, she no longer has that choice," she informs him first, "And since she doesn't, even by your own rules, her death would be murder. And while her lack of choice is my fault, it could also be termed self-defense. And though I could quite likely save her from the other gun, that I've chosen not to do so does not make me _equally_ responsible: Did I bring her here? Did I tie her to that chair? Did I point that gun at her? Will I be the one to pull the trigger? Did I not give you what reason I have for sparing her? At best I'd be a tiny fraction responsible, and I have good reason for it. And I'm used to being slightly responsible for the deaths of others - it happens to a small percentage of people every time I help create a new miracle drug."

While some might term it selfishness for Nina to be so quick and total in protecting herself first, her motives for doing it aren't: How many lives does she save or improve with her work? What could Heather do that could possibly compete with that? Not that Nina wouldn't be constantly racked with guilt if Heather dies, but the decision to spare herself seems obvious. Still, any time her gaze happens to meet Heather's, Nina's fierce expression is softened by compassion. Even Heather can probably tell that Nina's anger stems much from simple indignation that someone else is being forced into it.

* * *

><p>The argument she gave was one he heard many times in Arkham Asylum from his many favorite and wonderful therapists. He was almost disappointed in such a routine response, but when he noticed how focus she was on every aspect on the room he had to give her credit. She wasn't even going to attempt to play along with him. She was planning on escaping. He analyzed her every look and slight movement as he responded to her pitiable debate.<p>

"Are you saying there is no such thing as free will?" he asked pulling out his lollipop as he saw her eyes glue to the girl. The girl appeared to be flushing. He would have said out of lack of air because of how chaotic breathing, but the wetness on her skin made it look like a fever. Strange.

He continued, "Because I am certain that both you and her agreed to come with me. I even warned her that what I had planned was rough and could cause immense pain. She chose to be here just as you have chosen to challenge me. Admit it Nina, you like this. You're angry," he waved his hand causally up in the air like it wasn't a big deal, "I understand I would be too if you had gotten the upper hand, but I'm certain that I am the first person to truly push you out of your comfort area. You stated that you don't know the limit to your powers, but I can guarantee right now your testing them. You are seeing how far it reaches."

Yes, the girl most definitely had a fever. It came on too quick for it to be a natural cause. Nina had done it. For what purpose he couldn't figure out at the moment. He studied the weapon again. It hadn't been destroyed. Was it possible the reason the gun could not be used was because she stopped the girl's ability to use it? Maybe, what she truly had control over was the body? All bodies. What a powerful thing to have at your disposal…no wonder she warned him so often. "My point is that I cannot be held accountable when you are free to find a solution to the problem. If you are not able to…well one less unintelligent person on the Earth won't be missed. So I will offer again, do you want to answer the riddles to try for both the girl and your life or would you rather toy around with the poor girl's body until you end up killing her before the bullet does?"

He wanted Nina to know that he was beginning to get an idea of her powers. He wanted Nina to know that he would kill the girl. He wanted her to know that while her power was interesting he had no use for it. Not entirely true, he can find use for anything, but he didn't need her power to still be successful in his craft. Therefore, her threat against him killing the girl would mean nothing to him. The only thing that stopped him from declaring the girl's death in a few minute if she didn't answer the riddles was the one idea that sat in the back of his head. He wouldn't be able to play the game with Nina anymore. It would be over. He would have won. A thought like that usually caused an arrogant speech and a giddy dance, but right now…he felt disappointed. While he accused Nina of liking their confrontation the same admittedly went for him as well. He enjoyed their game. He enjoyed watching her eyes as they took into her bonds and tried to determine an escape. The look of pure stubbornness could only be matched by his own.

He looked down at the other button on the table. It would turn on the ventilation system that would fill the room with a poisonous gas. When he played over this riddle in his head, he imagined warning her that cheating would be her death adding a riddle about clean air not existing in city, but once again his eyes only glanced at it. Did he want her to escape? No. _This is a riddle I've almost solved, and managed to frustrate her in the process. Everything is going my way. There's no need to use that just yet._

* * *

><p>The problem that Nina now faces is that, like the world of electronics, the world of the inorganic is not that familiar of ground to her. While her gift had made all of her chemistry classes not that difficult because she could literally touch and interact with the subject matter when others couldn't, she'd known that she was going into medicine and so had focused all of her attention on organic chemistry after passing the basic courses, and even then she'd mostly just paid enough attention to pass the chapters on other subjects. But here she's being faced with chains, and though she can scratch at it with her gift, digging through it far enough to make it breakable could take hours. <em>What makes metal brittle?<em> she ponders. She knows there are several ways, and surely one of them is something she can make use of - but what were they?

She exhales sharply at his words. "I'll admit there are _aspects_ of this that, if taken out of this context, I would like," she says dully, "And actually, at this moment, I'm not seeing how far it reaches, but doing something I know I can do. It's just that I've never done it before, and I can't quite remember _how_ it's done." She could certainly live without the aspect of being talked down to while she's trying to concentrate on something difficult!

Still, she needs time to work it out, and keeping The Riddler from getting annoyed by her seeming dismissal of him is certainly worth dividing her attention. "So you're saying that just because I could do something about it, your own accountability is nothing? Even if the fact that there's a problem at all is your fault?" she shakes her head before continuing, "And I'm sure that your high level of intelligence has _nothing_ to do with how that's your chosen method of evaluating what people are worth. But if you'd like to try and measure me that way, go ahead." Personally, she likes measuring people based on virtues - something that one would think that she'd rate herself quite highly on, but she's her own worst critic in that regard.

At the mention of killing Heather, Nina does pause in her other musings for a moment to check on her. "I don't 'toy' unnecessarily with people. Everything I'm doing right now has a purpose, and she'll thank me for this in a minute. Or curse at me - I'm sure she doesn't like being our pawn any more than I enjoy being your toy. Probably much less." And though she catches the subtle hint at a guess at her power, Nina intentionally doesn't react - she's hardly going to give The Riddler any information she doesn't have to, including telling him that he's wrong, though he'll probably see soon enough that she's not limited to people. Though perhaps her lack of reply will be a hint of it's own if he expects her to react to a close guess.

* * *

><p>She never looked up at him during her discussion. Her eyes were glued to the chains as if trying to will them off with her mind…and maybe she was doing just that. He knew for certain that she had some effect in controlling the hooker's body functions through some type of telekinesis or mental power, but could she control intimate objects as well. If that was the case why didn't she just dissemble the gun? The answer was given as soon as the thought occurred. I've just never done it before. Had she really not explored the entirety of her power? He, of course, having to know everything about everything would have immediately determined the strengths and limitation if he ever possessed such a power. He had to remind himself that most people don't appreciate the power of knowledge. Nina obviously saw no point in exploring certain aspect of her power because it didn't relate to her life. He nodded stuck in his own mind at the thought. She was a doctor. She would be much more knowledgeable when it comes to the biology of the human body. She would use her power in that field more because she had constant opportunity to….<p>

What was her job again?

Microbiology….

A slow grin appeared on his face as the sound of each fact clicked in his mind. He would have basked in almost solving this riddle when Nina's next comment entered his mind. His words dropped out his mouth before he could even consider them. "No, that's not what I am saying," he automatically snapped, "I realize I am somewhat accountable because I did help create the situation, but creating a situation does not mean the outcome rest on my shoulders. Ponder this with me. It's raining. The weather has created a cold wet windy situation for the people. A person has a choice. Do they go out with an umbrella and a coat or do they risk the elements without one? When the person decides not to grab a jacket, and the results led to him in bed sick with a cold, do you accuse the rain for making the man sick or do you accuse the man's own stupidity to not take the necessary precautions? I'm not sure about you, but I usually blame the person's own choice not the weather." After his rant, he was once again perplexed why he felt he had to defend himself to her. It made him pause and the lollipop between his purple gloved fingers to droop a little. His hazel eyes blinked into focus again. He was right. He was always right. He was explaining to her why she was wrong. It was nothing unusual. He was just acting like his old arrogant self.

He smirked, "And intelligence, Nina, is the only way to measure a person's worth." He doesn't feel the need to elaborate. It was a fact, a fact he had determined from years of difficulties. A person who had not experience the hardship that stupidity could cause could never understand the reason for Edward's obsession. There comes a point in a man's life where an accident is no longer an accident and someone needs to be held accountable. To Edward, people used the excuse of 'it's an accident' or 'it's just one mistake' to cover up the disease that had spread across the world, stupidity. He would not accept less because society's standards accepted less. People would be held accountable for every action they make. He would make sure of it.

At the mention of the hooker, his focus is brought back to why he is here…and his great discovery. She hadn't rejected his idea of her power. She had actually admitted that she indeed was doing something to the hooker's body…even though she stated she wasn't 'toying' around with it. Her ability must be telekinesis. He could think of no other ability that would be able to control another person's actions…possibly mind control…but the hooker was still in tears meaning mind control wasn't happening. Again, Edward remembered Nina's job. She researched microbiology. Could she only control things on a micro level? It would explain why nothing drastically visible had occurred. It fit. It fit very well. But he wanted to make sure.

He glanced down at the remote to the gun and picked it up with his free hand. "While I enjoyed this conversation like all our others, I must speed up this process. In five minutes, I will shot the young woman. I know you will blame me for the action, but as far as I'm concerned you can stop it. Her life is in your hands," he felt a painful tug at his heart as the last statement left his mouth. It almost caused his smirk to falter. He didn't want to see Nina's look. He knew it would be some form of disappointment…or anger…or maybe it would just be indifferent that would led to disappointment. He knew whatever it was would annoy him so he wasn't exactly sure why he kept his eyes glued to the screen. "Or you could answer my riddles," he offered almost pathetically to avoid the look. God when did his voice sound like that? It almost sounded like it cracked. Why was he trying to offer her an escape from the problem? She would still be faced with the same dilemma in the end because no one could solve all of his riddles.

_Get a hold of yourself, Nigma._

* * *

><p>The danger in increasing someone's body temperature is, of course, that it will go too high. But Nina's always been very careful whenever using her gift on a person; never something she's not sure about, never something she can't undo if need be. And during her brief check Nina simply makes sure that the fever peaks at a safe level before dropping - no harm done except that Heather will probably get a little cold from the sweat, but that's hardly the worst thing to happen to her today.<p>

Temperature is an odd thing to sense at the microscopic level - it feels to Nina like a vibration in the molecules. And the rate at which molecules vibrate at normal human body temperature is very familiar to Nina by now. But as she gauges it in Heather, a thought occurs: could temperature help her with metal? She remembers well the demonstrations she's seen with liquid nitrogen - it seems that everything becomes brittle when it's cold. Could she do that? It's not something she's considered before, as trying to make something that cold is generally a bad idea when you're working with the living, but the answer is no - individual molecules are too small in her mental grasp for her to hold them tightly enough to hold them still...

This line of thought is interrupted by The Riddler's snap defense, and Nina doesn't think much of it. "The weather can't be blamed because it has no thoughts, no emotions, and no intelligence to guide it and so can't make decisions and can't be at fault. It has no awareness of anything, let alone that it's caused a problem, and no ability to do differently than the laws of physics demands so there's no part of it that can accept blame. Is that what you are?" she replies offhandedly - she's getting tired of trying to talk sense to someone with such an ego. Which is why she lets his further comment about how he measures worth with nothing but a frown to show that she disagrees but doesn't want to argue the point. What patience she's been able to salvage from her last rant remains very thin.

As he assembles the pieces of the puzzle of her power, Nina's attention goes back to where she left off. Making the metal cold seems out of the question... but isn't metal also easier to break when it's hot? Could she do that? Again, not something she's tried before, but it would involve purposefully increasing the vibration, and she's not sure one way or the other on that one.

And this is no time for her to let The Riddler give her a fixed time table. She knows she's on to something, but it would make for a very huge gamble for her risk it all on what she might be able to do within five minutes. "If you want to ask me riddles, then ask me riddles. But I believe that I made it clear that her life is in _your_ hands. I'm not at all convinced that what you do to her is my fault, and in any event an appeal to my logic will not alter an emotional response," she says without giving the question too much thought. Her thoughts are needed elsewhere for just one more moment.

Her attention turns specifically to one end of a link of the bit of chain that keeps her right hand secured to the chair. There she holds a cluster of the metal's molecules and gives them an experimental shake. And though many of the individual molecules leak out of her imprecise grasp, the cascade of destruction in the matrix of the metal caused by this violent disruption extends well beyond the bit that she's holding - the carefully arranged bonds between atoms that give the metal their strength shatter. And all of it retains and spreads the vibrations of heat and energy she just applied - metal always absorbs changes in temperature so quickly, after all. Still, the affected area is quite small - the heated metal doesn't even reach the surface. But unlike the actual vibrating of the metal, Nina's already well practiced in moving the focus of her power around quickly. This, indeed, is doable.

And she can hardly hide the switch in expression from intense concentration to the satisfaction of a successful discovery. "So that's how I break chains," she says quietly in wonder. Is it wise to say that out loud within hearing of The Riddler? Probably not. But a part of her wants him to know that she can do it, and that she figured out how _just now_. Let him add that to what she knows he's gleaning from her words and actions! Of course, what she'd actually just learned extends well beyond breaking the chains: vibrating solid metal works very well to heat and weaken it - and vibrating other things might be worth a try to see what happens. And it's certainly too dangerous to do such a thing to something alive. Not if she wants them alive and well, which is generally the case for Nina. The Fates were kind when they entrusted this power to someone so responsible.

* * *

><p>As per usual her indifference was infuriating. At the beginning of this riddle she had mentioned her fear of him, but he had a hard time believing that with how little consideration and attention she was paying to him. She legitimately thought she would get out of this riddle alive. He could tell. She was almost to a point of certainty with how she carried herself in the trapped position. Most people when put in this type of situation would grasp at any chance for an easy escape for their life, but Nina shrugged it off. He had to offered the riddles for her and the other's freedom three times. Three times, yet she basically rejected all offers. Most listened to the rules of the game and followed it immediately. Nina didn't see the point, and therefore attempted to find her own solution. He couldn't say he was surprised by her decision, it was the most logical option and probably the most intelligent option, but it also proved how little respect she had for him. <em>If you want to ask me riddles, then ask me riddles<em>. She didn't care. He wouldn't waste his precious treasure of riddles for a person who couldn't appreciate them. The riddles represented the key knowledge could bring. They represented the key to life. Nina didn't care.

He was beginning to believe that her first statements (one statement in particular) were all just a ploy to distract him. He had to admit it had worked. He was being too lenient towards her. He was stretching out time that he normally would shorten. He was chatting with her instead of explaining the dire of a position she truly was in. He hadn't spattered blood yet, but instead kept them both clean and healthy. He had been tricked. While part of his mind told him he would be able tell if she was lying, the more logical part of his mind connected how everything had turned towards her favor because of his lack of action…and his need to defend himself. He frowned at his realization. It was unfortunate that he let his male instincts run dominant for a time, but it was a mistake easily fixed. And while it was a mistake, the extra time that Nina had to play with had helped him determine Nina's powers so it wasn't all a negative. The extent of her power was still a mystery, but the ability was not, especially when she quietly mentions her own revelation of escaping the chains. It showed him that her focus on the chains was not random but a collective thought on how to manipulate them to her benefit. When she finally escapes the chains he will see first hand the effects, and be 100 percent positive she was the cause. He wondered to himself if there is a certain expression she makes when manipulating object or if it is just the same focus look she has been giving the entire time. In the end, he would find out.

He was tired of the debate with her though. As far as he was concerned the hooker was dead. Nina had no plan on saving her, and he had no plan on keeping her alive. One gun would fire by the end of this. He had given Nina two options. Solve the riddles, or let the other woman shoot. Nina didn't want either. It was her choice. He felt a mixture of sadness and disappointment. He knew he was winning, but he couldn't appreciate it. However, he would gain something from this. Nina would finally realize, she is not in control…he is.

He turned in the camera to be staring at the hooker. He let out a slightly exaggerated sigh. "Heather, correct? Well my dear, Nina has no interest in my riddles and I have no interest in giving them to an unappreciative contestant. So the option of you both walking out of here alive has left. Therefore, I give you the choice. You can pull the trigger to your gun or you can take the bullet from the other one. I will give you a minute to decide," he stated as he typed into the computer putting up a timer on the right hand corner.

The big digital clock slowly starts ticking down, and Edward turns to Nina once more. "Unfortunately Nina, I believe we will have to agree to disagree…that is the problem with putting two stubborn personality in the same arena. Riddle me this, the magnets push away from each other, why?" he remarked in almost uncaring way. It was a simple question that commented on the flaw of their strange relationship of sorts. He still couldn't determine why he felt so sad about the outcome. He had won. He had determined a lot of her ability, and most likely by the end of this he would probably know the full extent of it.

"Oh on another note, Nina," he said randomly as the seconds tic to 45, "Cheating might be successful in the short run, but in the long run can be poisonous."

Heather's heart raced when the Riddler said her name. Her body had felt extremely hot, and then started a cold shiver. The weird shift in the temperature around her was making her feel even more upset and confused. The two dreads of her life (as she now was calling them) had mentioned her being a pawn or a toy. She didn't understand what she had to do with this. She didn't understand what anything that was going on. But when the Riddler told her the woman across from wouldn't answer some silly riddles, she felt a huge sense of panic overwhelm her already high hysteria.

"You can pull the trigger…"

The words melted into her ear, and her heart stopped for a moment. There was still an escape from this. She just had to kill this woman. No offense to the other woman, but Heather would have no sympathy for a person who seemed to be selfishly out for herself. Heather had hated hearing their stupid debate over her life. HER LIFE like it meant nothing. They both were at fault! If she died she would haunt both of them...but she wouldn't die...because she had a choice.

Heather took a deep breath through her nose as she closed her watery eyes. She could do this. She could do this.

She pulled the trigger.

…

Her finger didn't move….her finger didn't move. Her eyes shot open wide, as she tried to use the muscle that had always felt familiar. No…shit….please! Again and again she tried to pull that stupid trigger. Her eyes danced to the screen that had the seconds ticking down. No. Adam. No, I can't die. Her eyes danced to the gun that pointed at her head. No! Why couldn't she pull the trigger? Why? She started screaming through the duck tape trying to tell the Riddler that she tried! It's not her fault! Please! Oh god…please.

* * *

><p>Nina can still remember when she first perceived the true potential of her power. It had been midway through her first semester of college chemistry class. The instructor had a tendency to rant and rave about the importance of his subject matter, but one day it had really sunken in: she could control the very substance of which everything was made. The hardness of diamonds and the toughness of titanium fell as easily to her power as anything else. And this means that she can literally do <em>anything<em> except tamper directly with atoms, though as a more practical matter anything large is more speedily managed with more normal methods.

But the sheer scope of that had terrified Nina: Who was she to hold so much power? And what if she hurt someone with it? In the days that had followed she'd contemplated long and hard about the possibility of using her power to destroy itself - hack away at that part of her brain she was certain contained it until she no longer could. But two things stopped her: The first was that she trusted herself. She could be careful and she could be wise in exactly what she did with her power. And, so far at least, she's been right: she has an absolute power and it has not corrupted her. Still, she worries, and that's probably why she's never tried to do anything much outside of her chosen field. The other thing that stopped her was the knowledge that her power could be used just as easily to help people as to harm them. And it was then that she started to call the power she held her 'gift'. It was a gift she held on to because she could use it to give to others. And give she has - as much as she feels that she can, whenever she feels that she can.

But Nina also came to understand that it was very important that it remain _her_ gift. There are a great many things in this world that she cares about: human life being solidly at the top. And it had occurred to her that while she may trust herself to be responsible, anyone else who knew might be tempted by it. So she kept it secret - much for the same reason that the vigilantes running around in masks donned those masks. It kept her and everything she cares about safe. But she also protected herself another way - by making one promise that is, to her, more important than her promise to herself to never kill: she can't let anyone _force_ her to save someone else's life by using her gift, either directly or indirectly and not for any person or reason.

Now, Nina doesn't know how far The Riddler has gotten in guessing about her gift, but she knows that she hasn't been very careful. There are enough pieces to put together now if he can only wrap his mind around the idea of what can be done at the microscopic level. And once he manages that, she can only guess at how long it will take him to understand, as she did, how very little lies outside of her abilities. And she can't know how tempted he would be by that. But what she does know is that he knows enough now that she must also show him that she won't weaken under a threat to even what she holds most dear; _anyone_ could be sitting where Heather is now, and she'd do the same. While being his toy or not is something she has no control over and merely spares her from misery, when she'd asked to not be his pawn it wasn't because she _could_ become his pawn but because any attempt on his part to control her would both fail and cost her whatever he tried to use.

So when he starts talking to Heather, the satisfaction on Nina face turns quickly into horror and despair. _He's going to kill her, and I can't save her..._ A minute is probably plenty of time for her to disable the remote controlled gun, so the 'can't' has nothing to do with lack of ability but her reason telling her that she must not do it. And that makes it _so_ much worse for Nina. It's a thought that tears through her very deeply, grinding against the core of her psyche. All thoughts of chains and escape are gone now. Even the threat of poison goes in one ear and out the other. She can't even think clearly enough to make another attempt at a grand speech.

Nina turns her head away from the gun, unable to stand having it even in her peripheral vision. That's only of limited help: she doesn't need to see what she's manipulating in order to do it, it only helps her 'aim' her mind through the often confusing world of the very, very small. And she already knows how far away and at what angle the gun is to herself, so at best averting her eyes would only slow her. No, the only thing that's actually stopping her is her own strength of will, but it's a delicate struggle between it and her desire to save a life that's only barely being won, and the strain of holding back is quite evident in not only Nina's face but her entire being.

When she hears Heather panic, it nearly becomes too much for her. She visibly flinches and closes her eyes, her expression one of intense inner pain. And she can feel herself mentally reaching out in the direction of the gun; a part of her mind is rebelling against the wishes of the rest. _No..._ she commands herself as she searches for something, _anything_, that she can do to stop herself. And, finding it, she starts to sing:

"Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius,

I don't feel any pain.

A little fall of rain

Can hardly hurt me now.

You're here. That's all I need to know.

And you will keep me safe,

And you will keep me close,

And rain will make the flowers grow."

Her singing voice, much like her appearance, is naturally beautiful but unpolished because she's never cared enough about it to put forth that effort. And it is, perhaps, an odd song to choose to comfort herself: the song of a woman dying in the arms of the man she secretly always loved because of wounds she received risking her life to send a letter for him to the woman _he_ loved...

And a part of her _is_ dying. It's evident by the amount of raw feeling she's able to pour into the song, and the strange clarity with which she can sing it despite her inner turmoil. Nina is, at heart, a kind and gentle soul, and if Heather dies the guilt of it will haunt her forever. And her hatred of the man who did it will never be extinguished.

The song is a short one, and there is still time left when she's finished. She opens her eyes spends that time in silence, looking at nothing and focusing on nothing but keeping her mind away from the gun with a dead look in her eyes, though aware of the amount of time left on the clock of her periphery.

There comes a point, 3 seconds left on the clock, which she _knows_ is past the point of no return for having any hope of using her power to disable the gun. It's only then that Nina can trust herself to turn back, though she has to avoid looking at Heather - she can't bear seeing whatever look is on her face. Instead her eyes, moistened by tears that are barely being held back, go to The Riddler. And she simply says, "Please... don't..." Her only hope now is that he'll change his mind, and by this point she doesn't believe that he will. It's too feeble of a request; too little, too late.

* * *

><p>The woman started screaming through the duck tape. He didn't need to hear the words to know what was being said. The woman had found out that she couldn't use the weapon. Edward sat there, rolling the lollipop between his fingers. He didn't get it. Each second that ticked by, the speed of his fingers increased making the shape of the lollipop appear rounder. He just didn't get it. The friction of the white stick started to ware on his fingers. It made no sense. She would save herself, but not the other woman. His hand started to make a sound against his desk. Why? Did she not have the ability to? Did her power only affect the body? His eyes glued to the red swirl of the lollipop. No, she could effect the chain therefore she could effect a gun, but she choose not to. Why?<p>

He looked back at the screen and saw the hurt and torn expression written all over her face. She wanted to save her. The tears threatening her eyes told him that, but she didn't. Why? He normally would have accused her of being selfish and unthoughtful…but she cared. He didn't get it. _Save her if that's what you want to do, why are you letting her die?_ he wanted to ask, but couldn't. The thing that happened next took him another leap backwards.

Singing.

He blinked unsure of what he was actually hearing. Her eyes were shut tightly facing away from the woman as she sung a piece from Les Miz. It had been years since he had seen the play, but he believed it was part where Eponine dies in her lover's arms. It was a strange choice of song. While he recognized the similarities between the character and Nina, it wasn't her that was dying but the whore. He was also certain that if Nina were to fall in love, the man would certainly fall as well. The man wouldn't obliviously chase after another woman like Marius had. Once again, he didn't understand her choice, but it seemed as if the song was a sense of comfort…

Almost as if saying someone was there, holding her and keeping her strong in her moment of weakness. But why was it weakness? She wanted to save her. Why would it be weak to follow that choice? Why was letting the person die, the stronger one...or better yet the 'right' choice?

Her singing slowly stopped and the room was once again filled with the hooker's muddled screams. He wasn't paying attention to that. His only focus was on Nina. Her eyes locked with his.

So much pain.

He frowned. It hurt. It hurt him seeing her like this, and for some reason the pain in his leg that had felt numb to him through all of this became all too apparent. His frown deepened. He stopped rolling his lollipop, and his hand automatically flew to his leg. His eyes though…they were still focus on Nina. He watched the quiver in her lips and the tears that slid down her check as she pleaded softly not to do it.

RING.

He tore his eye from her to the clock.

00:00

"Times up," he stated colder and quieter then usual. He tried to force a smirk, but he couldn't. He didn't look at Nina. He looked down at the remote. His leg hurt. It hurt as bad as the day it had all happen. Wasn't he passed this? Normally the only thing that could cause such a set back was witnessing stupidity….but this was different. This was…..

Sympathy.

No. No. He would not be won over by some girl's tearful expression. He was the Riddler.

He pressed the button, the gun fired, the muffled screams went silent, and for the first time, the Riddler felt no need to gloat. He sat back in his chair with his arms across his chest and a pout that could rival a kindergartener.

* * *

><p>The sound of the gun causes Nina to flinch reflexively, at least as much as her bindings allow, but after that there is nothing. She does nothing, sees nothing, feels nothing... Only a blink and her shallow breaths show that she's still fully conscious.<p>

_Why?_ she asks herself, _WHY?_

She can't help but go over in her mind everything that led up to this - the museum, her apartment, the words that had been exchanged here. At first glance, mistakes seemed to be everywhere - she could have stopped him _should_ have stopped him... But no - would it really have helped anything in the end if she'd been more forceful? It seemed to her then just as much as now that whatever his reasons for doing this to Heather and to her, she would have only given him more reason if she'd done any differently. Delayed it, perhaps, but she'd known from that moment in the museum that he'd recognized her as different that he had the power to hurt her like this - kill her, perhaps, if that's what he wanted. And any delay could easily have made the eventuality worse.

No, if every path she could have taken would lead to him trying to hurt her, then the fact that he did wasn't her fault. And she could hardly help that what she cherishes the most is human life, or that it's so obvious to look at her life and career that it's what would get to her the most. No, that's a part of her that she actually sees as the best: who and what she is as a person is obvious to see if anyone cares to pay attention because she does nothing except seek after it.

No, she can't blame herself for this. Intellectually, at least - emotionally it will always be a different matter. Another life and another pain to add to the list of what she blames on herself. And perhaps the sharpest of them all. Even now she can't bear to look at Heather...

Nina's mood shifts, her eyes close as she takes a deep breath. Tears are useless here, and so is allowing herself to ponder too long upon what just happened. Those can be saved for later, when she actually has the time. She still has herself to save, she's still tied up and in the hands of a murderer... one whose image she sees on a television screen when she opens her eyes, sitting there with such a brooding expression still made her heartbeat do strange things... _Stop it, Nina, just stop it!_

Her expression is initially sorrowful, but it shifts quickly to disappointment. If she'd been disappointed when she was kidnapped, then this time it's at an entirely different level. And she asks the two questions that are still nagging at the back of her mind, "What did I ever do to you to deserve to be hurt like _this_? And why are you so afraid of me?" Her voice is strangely distant and dispassionate; so much of what she ought to be feeling right now has been set aside to be sorted through later, and there isn't much emotion left to take its place. Later there will be more tears, more grief, but not now.

* * *

><p>Edward felt his gloved hand turn into a tight fist. It almost felt like he would break through the leather confines. Afraid…those words had actually left her mouth in a form of an accusation. The little sympathy he (might) have felt had disappeared in the form of anger. He couldn't even be affected by the disappointed attitude in her entire form. Afraid…of her? She was the one trapped because of him. She was fighting for her life while he sat comfortably in a chair miles away. Why would he be afraid of her? He now knew her power! (Well most of it). Knowledge was power, and he had knowledge. So again, why would <em>he<em> be afraid of _her_?

It was a ridiculous notion that once again proved she had little to no respect for him…even after he just proved his control. What did he have to do to prove himself to her? He looked over her form that seemed dirty and almost pathetic, but somehow the aura around her screamed confidence.

He smirked. They were very much like two same charged magnets trying to be pushed together by a child. The force between them just kept causing problem after problem, but the stupid kid just kept trying to put them together not learning from the mistake. She thought she was more powerful then him. He thought he was more powerful then her. They both taking steps in this game to prove who is better for different reasons, but all under the same guise that they will win in the end. It was an impossible game that could last forever. He knew it was the truth, but he couldn't just step back. He couldn't let the challenge beat him. Nothing beat him.

His eyes fell to the desk as he shook his head. He leaned closer to the camera as his elbow rested on the desk. His finger pointed at the camera as he shook it similar to how a mother scold's a child. "You're wrong, dear," he stated so coldly Mr. Freeze would be impressed, "Very wrong."

He brought his scolding finger up to the bridge of his nose and pinched it together as if trying to dig through his thoughts. "You see," he began as he rubbed his hand along his face until resting his chin in it, "I'm not afraid of men who dress as bats, women with super strength, men with laser vision, people with powers unimaginable, and especially not girls with a talent at telekinesis. You want to know why? Because everyone has a weakness. Everyone. All it takes is one person to figure out what it is, and what do you know…I'm pretty spectacular at that." He gave his cliché arrogant smirk before continuing, "The only thing I am afraid of is the unsolvable riddle, and please do not flatter yourself by assuming you're unsolvable."

"And to answer the other puzzle in your mind," he stated as he sat back in his chair again, "It's a game, Nina. You were an interesting piece for a time, but like all pawns, you are discarded for the true players. You're similar to a riddle that has already been solved." He waved his hand uncaringly as the unkind false words left his mouth. He didn't quite understand why he was being so cruel. Maybe he was trying to prove something to himself that he would not consciously let be true.

He didn't like Nina.

She was a pawn.

Stating it aloud made it factual.

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_Lies, why is he answering me with lies?_ she has to ask herself as she listens to his reply. A perplexing question, and the confusion on her face is obvious. He hasn't lied to her before - misled her with the truth, certainly, but she suspects that he does that for the challenge of it. And she knows that they're lies because she's seen so many times his very emotional knee-jerk reaction to nearly every other thing that she does. There's something _personal_ going on here, underneath the surface, that she can't quite figure out. And either he doesn't want to talk about badly enough to break his own rule about not lying or... _He's lying to himself._ And the moment that thought occurs, she realizes that it must be true. Surprised by the idea, she tries to go further, but here's where it starts to get hazy: What is he lying about? She hasn't the slightest idea except that something about her troubles him. A lot.

That fact is probably the closest she can get to a true answer to her questions, and she tucks it neatly into that part of her that's trying to make some sense of all of this. And it's enough, at least, to give the understanding she needs to look at Heather. Some of the grief that she's set aside pokes at her face, but for the most part her expression is deeply thoughtful. There lies her weakness. Or at least, the one to her emotions. But her emotions will be okay; in time they'll heal least as much as she wants them to. Because emotions are not really a weakness for Nina, they're one of her greatest strengths.

And The Riddler doesn't have that same strength, surely. His moods are too short-lived and quick in changing for that, and so often too much like a child's. And there lies _his_ weakness. That and his complete self-assurance that he has everything under control. But unlike him, she knows better than to _try_ to poke at a dragon, even though his jabs at her own weaknesses have presently left her with so little compassion for him that she's much less worried about how unkind or not her actions toward him are than she would have been before (another thing that will take time to heal). Still, perhaps there's something she could _use_ there. Or in any event, she's guessing that she won't lose anything by trying that she won't lose eventually anyway if she doesn't give it a shot.

"Tell me, Sherlock: if I have already been solved, then perhaps you can explain why I let you kill Heather," she says, starting slowly and quietly but getting stronger as she goes along, "And why I cared so little for riddles offered to spare her life. And why I saved myself. And why, if I can break chains, I haven't done so. And why I've never tried to run away from you in any way. And why, since I'm afraid of you, I'm not cowering and begging for mercy. And why, given that healing the pain and much of the function of an eight, give or take a few, year-old crush injury to the leg of someone who refused to get it amputated is _well_ within my capabilities, I haven't tried to use that as a bargaining chip for either Heather's life, my own, or anything else for that matter. And why it's not presently on the table now. And why I'm so willing to mention it now if it isn't. And I'm sure there's more. And I'm also sure that _if_ you've managed to come up with an answer to any of those, it's certainly not the right one." Because all of those thoughts and decisions on her part were made on an emotional level, and if she's right about him then the reasoning behind any of it escapes him. Is _that_ what troubles him about her?

She looks away from Heather and back to The Riddler, knowing that her words are likely to do... something. And it will either help her or harm her, though she's not certain which. He's in some ways just as confusing to her as she is to him - perhaps for the very same reason. A woman with her sensibilities can only vaguely imagine how a mind like his works - though she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't somewhat curious about that.

* * *

><p>When he awoke from surgery he screamed. A piercing scream that could rival any mother giving birth. He had never screamed before, not when his father was pounding him to the ground or when he feared his life as the car barely missed him. At that moment he had one thought.<p>

_Please_, make it stop.

The pain was indescribable, but if he were to attempt to relate it to something, it would be similar to having your leg slowly roasted above hot flames as a person cut deep slashes through your muscles. It had taken immense focus to even hear what the doctors were saying. A normal person would have lost the will to move and given up on everything, but Edward was far from normal. Something in the back of his mind cracked that day. He went silent. The doctor's were so surprised by the sudden calmness that they thought he was going into shock.

Far from it actually, he was having an epiphany. The dim-witted majority ran society, and he would forever be punished because of it. Plato had foreseen it thousands of years ago within his own society, yet with all the years of advancement we were still unable to cage stupidity…instead it grew faster and faster. The Riddler was born that day while Edward Nigma died. The Riddler would not let pain caused by idiot's mistakes to affect him, so he forced it away. Surprisingly, ignoring a screaming pain caused a person to focus even more carefully on their task. Not only did Edward managed to walk again (something deemed impossible by the buffoon doctors), but he also increased his already high IQ.

While the accident had been 'rebirth' of sorts in his life, that did not mean he hadn't tried everything to fix it. He studied biology with a focus primarily on muscles pain. He studied the very operation conducted on him. He studied the interactions of nerves and how to heal them. He studied everything dealing with his condition and found no solution. He spent two years studying as he went about his revenge and other riddles…and found nothing. It was probably that very reason why the pain in his leg bothered him even more. He couldn't solve it.

So when she spoke the only words his mind could grasp around was the statement:

_healing the pain and much of the function of an eight, give or take a few, year-old crush injury to the leg of someone who refused to get it amputated is well within my capabilities_

She could heal his leg.

He understood she had power to manipulate elements on a micro scale using her mind. He also understood she had a large knowledge supply in medical research dealing with micro level biology, but that still didn't change the fact that his leg was basically dead weight. The only possible way to solve the pain and give him the ability to run would be to grow both the muscle and nerve tissue that had been destroyed….basically to make the rock size jagged gap on his calf disappear. He understood she could manipulate the aspect of the inner body, but could she really grow cells at such an extreme velocity that would both defy the current shape of his leg and reattach muscles that had not been connected in years. Manipulating movement was very different then speeding the process at which the nucleus of the cell divides. It would mean that her telekinesis was much more powerful then he thought.

He couldn't describe the emotion he was feeling. It reminded him of when his mother had picked him up after one of his father's attacks.

"It's all right my little Eddie. It hurts now, but it will never hurt again," she would coo as she squeezed him tightly in her arms, crying on his hair. He would believe her. He would believe it was all over that they would be happy together. He would never feel the pain of a fist or the jab of kick. He believed his mother would fix it. It would all be okay…until it happened again...and again...and again.

That was the problem when you relied on others to solve your problem. You would hope for the best but always be sorely disappointed. It was the very reason he solved everything on his own. He would be control of his life because when he wasn't, idiots made mistakes.

While Nina's admission to his cure came as a surprise, he would have responded the same way if she were actually offering it to him.

No.

He would never again let a person into his body. Never, would he lose control over his life and let another huge mistake ruin it. He lacked the trust for such a thing.

But Nina was right…the fact that she hadn't used that ability as a bargaining chip was rather unusual. Everything she did was rather unusual, and he felt trapped by her words…as if she had caught him in…a lie.

Had he lied?

No, he couldn't have. He never lied. He had figured out Nina, he just needed to go over the clues again.

-She didn't save Heather

-She didn't attempt the riddles

-She didn't break the chains

-She didn't run from him

-She didn't offer him a cure

-She didn't respect him

-She didn't fight the outcomes

As he listed it in his mind, he realized they all had one thing in common. He couldn't help but let the light laugh escape his lips. It was humorous really. It was so obvious he was surprise he hadn't notice it before.

Everything she did was the exact opposite of what he wanted or expected her to do.

He associated that aspect to her being a challenge (which she no doubt was) but it meant more then that. It meant that she purposely did the opposite of what he wanted (subconscious or consciously). It was possible this was all a mere coincidence, but the Riddler didn't believe in chance, that was Dent's field. The only reason she would purposely do that would be to prevent his influence in her choices...to prevent his control over her actions. She didn't want him in control her. He laughed again. She was as much as control freak as him.

"I will admit Nina not only are you beautiful and intelligent, but you are also very dangerous. I can only assume then that your greatest fear is for that dangerous talent to become someone else's tool. Am I right?" he asked. If someone were oblivious to his entire thought process, they would find the comment rather random, but he knew Nina wouldn't. Nina would realize that he had gotten a step closer not to solving her power…but to solving her.

He smirked with confidence. No one best the Riddler.

* * *

><p>As The Riddler thinks over her words, Nina waits, her expression dispassionate as she holds back her grief and misery. If she can't think clearly and be very careful right now, then Heather's death really <em>will<em> be meaningless. Is it possible for the dead to feel guilt? She certainly has no wish to find out!

His reaction both eases some of her worries and troubles her - laughter at whatever he's thinking about is a sign that this has turned in a better direction, but she hardly feels like this is the time and place for such an emotion. _How can I feel this way about someone so heartless?_ Now is not the time to ponder that question either. It was odd how the relationship between her emotions and her intellect worked; normally she felt that her feelings enhanced her understanding and therefore helped her to think better. But at times it seemed like her emotions betrayed her - she felt things that ran completely contrary to the logic of the situation. And while she could openly acknowledge that, it didn't mean that she liked it.

The first part of what The Riddler says is at least a partial relief: perhaps now he's starting to respect her just a bit? Too much to expect from him, but not too much to have hope for it. But if so, what made the difference? Was it that she'd explained one among many of the very _substantial_ things that she could do with the combination of her gift and her knowledge of medicine? That was the only _new_ fact that she'd given him. If so, it might be worth her while to encourage him to ponder more on the exact range of her powers... Something to save for later if she needs to.

But the rest of what he says causes a thoughtful frown and a long pause as she mulls over the accuracy of the statement and the best way to phrase her response. "By that question are you saying that you believe I did all of those things simply to resist being controlled by you? That would seem to imply to me that you think that I demand total freedom of will at all times, or take some sort of pleasure in subverting you. No. I only did one of those things out of a desire to not be controlled, and it's a small factor in two others. So... partial credit, I suppose," she replies.

And she knows better than to point out that being able to explain one and a slight portion of two more out of the nine actions she listed is not very much at all. Yes, she recognizes that he's taken a step to solving her. A very small one. If she _could_ find any humor in this situation it would be his assumption that one overarching explanation could possibly explain everything she does. Does he view everyone as being so simple? She's not at all certain that she's more complicated than anyone else, but she does know that she's, perhaps, more aware of her own complexity and better able to explain it than most.

"And I wouldn't call being someone's tool my _greatest_ fear," she continues, "But more specifically my greatest fear that's actually possible. My greatest fears are a bit... irrational, I must admit. But it _is_ the greatest of those that are actually possible." Of course, she's sure that, while possible, that possibility is very, very slim indeed. The proof of that is sitting across from her now.

* * *

><p>He had almost gotten use to her dismissive tone, but as always it caused his confidence to falter and an edge of frustration to attach along his skin. He did, however, have to respect her honesty. No matter the situation he put her in she always spoke the truth. It was a simple notion that had been forgotten by the rest of mankind, and while he wanted to stay and analyze the woman further through another tough situation, he remembered his own promise he made. He frowned at the thought of it, but decided to respond first to her annoying dismissal.<p>

"You have to realize Nina that you have fought for your independence every step of this ordeal. At times, admittedly, it felt like I was pushing against a brick wall hoping that I would eventually push through, but, as always, you stayed stubborn to your way," he commented as he reflected over how frustrating it all had been. The museum, the apartment, the actual riddle, all were so infuriating that his temper had snapped as easily as a twig under the weight of an elephant. But…

It had been fun…in a challenging way. Nina was unlike other woman…unlike other people. She wasn't a simple formula that could be determined in a matter of minutes, but a complex piece of art and like art never completely understood. He had never considered a person art before…such a title given to such an inferior thing would have insulted him only a few weeks ago…but Nina was different.

No. What was he doing?

He tried to focus elsewhere like her words on fear. Irrational? "I'm sure nothing about you is irrational," his thoughts left his mouth before he could stop them. He frowned. He never spoke so rash. This woman was causing him to make…mistakes. He never made mistakes.

Focus. She's only a person…a person that will be out of your life soon enough. The riddle is over...yes it has to be.

The thought caused a mixture of emotion. He felt joy that he would never have to feel so…like this again, but also disappointed that their lively banter was coming to an end. "On another note, I promised one of you would walk out alive, and since one of you," he paused and glanced at the dead woman with a huge hole in her head, "is let say incapacitated the option goes to you. You didn't cheat so your life is yours. Would you like Allen to set you free or do you want to prove to yourself you can get out alone?" He wasn't smirking. He wasn't frowning. His face only showed indifference. Life would go back to normal now that Nina Stenet was out of it.

* * *

><p>"If I'd <em>wanted<em> to be difficult, I could have made it a lot worse. But yes, my stubbornness is one of my better qualities," Nina replies without a trace of humor in her tone. Being hard-headed is often taken as a vice, but she sees it as a good thing when wisely applied. This situation, for example: by sticking to what she believes in, she's gotten everything she needed from it.

But absolutely nothing else. Which she takes as proof of a thought that she's had in the back of her mind for quite some time: the two of them are, in sum total, equals or nearly so. She may be no match for his intelligence, but he's no match for her will. Of course, he has other powerful traits, but so does she. And though she has plenty of weaknesses for him to exploit, so does he. And is there anything more dangerous than two well-matched, dangerous people being at odds with each other? Which is why, for all his pushing, she's never once tried to push back. Yet, anyway. There are limits to what she can tolerate, and he's gotten very, very close to them - in fact she's surprised that she hasn't reached them yet.

His comment on her rationality draws her thoughts back. If she were in a different mood, she would have laughed at it. Instead she merely comments, "Then I'm sure that if you could read my mind you'd be very surprised." _Of course_, she's irrational. She often embraces her own irrationality, and the rest of the time she simply has to accept it. There are just some parts of herself that she can try to talk sense to all she likes without it changing anything.

One of them comes to the surface right now; many would treat the news that they had 'earned' their life with jubilation, or at least relief. She has to quite obviously fight back another wave of guilt and grief. The guilt, she knows, is irrational. Could she have managed to get both of them out of here? She's not sure. Perhaps, and maybe she should have tried. Maybe she should have done one of a thousand things differently. But it didn't change the fact that her only fault was in not stopping it; and perhaps by stopping it she would have gotten them both killed. But no matter how many times she argues that point with herself, it will do nothing to ease the guilt.

It takes her a few moments to set that feeling aside again; he's asked her a question. And she doesn't really have to consider it much before she answers, "I have no desire to prove myself to myself, but that doesn't mean I want any help." No, it feels somehow wrong for her to choose the easy way out now. Perhaps she feels the need to punish herself for doing something she doesn't think she should feel guilty about - and he thinks that she's rational!

Her eyes immediately lower back to that link of chain she'd experimented with before - one that's part of the strand securing her right hand, but a short distance away from those that actually touch her. While she hasn't the slightest idea how much her shaking of the metal before had translated into actual temperature, it had been hot enough at that small point to burn her then and she's going to do even more of it now. Her expression becomes focused again, but if the Riddler watches her carefully enough he'd see her eyes unfocus slightly - the same expression that anyone has when they reach somewhere they can't see, eyes sometimes shifting in concert with the movements of her invisible gift.

She frowns slightly in frustration a few times, and it takes her a full half minute before she tries to flex her wrist to apply what force she can against the weakened chain. And nothing happens. Undaunted, she thinks quickly for a moment before muttering "neuronal action potential" to herself. She looks at her arm for a few seconds with that slightly unfocused look, and then flexes her wrist again. This time the weakened link gives with some reluctance to her quick jerk, and the broken ends can be seen glowing very faintly with heat. A small victory, something she's said that she hasn't done before, and yet there isn't a hint of pleasure in it on her face. Instead her attention simply shifts to the rope on her forearm.

* * *

><p>When she insisted that she would handle the situation herself, he had not been surprised. He had hoped that would be her decision. It would be interesting seeing the effects of her power on objects instead of the body. Therefore, he merely nodded and leaned his elbow along his armrest as he watched.<p>

What he saw was something above expectation…the power behind her eyes, the thoughtful expression along her features, the barely but perfectly calculated movements, each action reminded him of watching an artist along the pathway within the Tuileries Garden. The artist seemed to be in completely different world that was full of things unimaginable to him, the poor sap stuck in reality. The artist saw something different out of the simplest of thing and used that to create beauty. The very look he had witnessed from painter after painter was the very same look pronounced on Nina's face. She was seeing something different from him…something he would never be able to see. Where he saw a chain, she saw an escape. His hand naturally went up to his mouth as he leaned closer to the screen.

It took all of his focus to even tare his attention away from her face that had captivated him. He went to the chain. Nothing appeared to be happening, but he knew that was far from the case. He watched as Nina's arm jerked upwards to only be stopped by it. It wasn't until her arm went back to her previous position that he noticed the slightly reddening of her skin. It wasn't the reddening given by pressure, but the reddening that occurred along the skin when it was agitated by heat. He smirked behind his palm. She was heating up by increasing the speed of the atoms in the metal to weaken it. She was more then just an artist but a genius in her own rank.

Her words that were spoken to herself and not to him, broke him out of the strange trance he had gotten himself into. The statement seemed vaguely familiar. He knew it was related to biology and more particular the influence of a cell's membrane. It had something to do with a spark…or…he couldn't quite place it. It had been three years since he had seriously studied biology. Reading over Nina's book earlier tonight was the first text he had read over on microbiology in a long time. But he really didn't have time to contemplate it because in a moment she jerked her arm through the chain. It must have strengthened the power behind her muscle for a few moments. He heard the chain slowly slide off her and clash against the ground.

It was rather spectacular to witness. He almost wanted to applaud. "I'm quite impressed," he stated even though his tone almost sounded bored. It wasn't that he was actually bored, he was just more caught up in his own thoughts. It was such an amazing power, yet she chose to keep it hidden. She could have done anything. She could have used the power to further any career she chose but she chose medical research. She obviously valued human life, but for some reason she decided to let Heather die. He partially understood why…but not fully. "I'm curious. You don't have to answer, but I'm wondering why you chose your particular career field. Did your mother die from an incurable sickness? Did you go to the hospital one day and decide I want to make these people better? There usually is a reason behind what we do and from what I gathered of your history I couldn't find one. Or are you just a good person, Nina." The last response was sarcastic not because Nina wasn't a good person, but because every person looked out for themselves before they considered others. Good was merely a tool the political leaders put in place to manipulate the weak and stupid.

* * *

><p>Up until now the ropes had been ignored, and there was a very good reason for that. Unlike solid metal, full of molecules evenly arranged by the heat used in their creation, the fibers in a rope are less carefully arranged; some are more critical to the strength of the whole than others. And beyond that, rope is not <em>solid<em>, so even a rope that looks like it's the same thickness as a chain has, in reality a lot less substance to it. She lifts her forearm as far as it goes to put some strain on the most important fibers, and sets to work breaking those while ignoring the rest. And this is _much_ more like what she's used to doing with her gift; whether in a body or outside of it, finding and cutting specific targets is pretty much the same thing, so this is merely time-consuming and not actually all that difficult.

So while she ignores the comment about the chain, she's willing to entertain the idea of answering the question because it won't slow her down. But this is a question that Nina views differently than most, and that's evident by just how far back her story begins. "I was a 'smart kid'. Not just with my grades - I was extremely precocious. I got along much better with adults than my peers, so of course the others teased me. 'Teacher's pet' they called me. And I never did have very many friends to tell them to stop it. Well, of course I got angry, wanted to tease them back. And I did - for awhile. But then I realized something: being teased _hurt_. And how could I do that to someone else when I knew exactly how much it hurt? I felt so sorry for them every time, that I had to stop. And when I wouldn't fight back, the teasing got even worse and I cried instead. 'Crybaby'..."

Her voice is completely dispassionate as she talks about this, and perhaps that would be mistaken as a part of all the other negative emotions that she's obviously holding back on at the moment, or that the teasing she hadn't really been _that_ bad. But actually it's that she came to terms with this particular pain from her past and she's moved on - the memory doesn't hurt her anymore.

About this time she feels the rope starting to weaken and she pauses in her story to throw as much force against it as she can with her limited ability to move her lower arm. The rope gives, but not quite all the way. Still, it's loosened enough that she just manages to grab it with her fingers, and her hand _is_ strong enough to break through the rest. When she continues talking she's using the extra mobility that provides to clear away the rest of the rope and chain connected to what she's already broken so that she can more easily see what's been taken care of. "I learned a lot during that time about what it was like to hurt, and whenever I saw anyone else hurting for any reason I wanted to make the hurt go away. I probably would have gone into psychiatry if my talents hadn't led me in a slightly different direction - there's only so much that's physical about the mind."

Now free up to her right elbow, Nina pauses to consider the rest of her bindings. It would be a lot easier if she had a better perspective on them, but the ropes and chains seem to disappear on one side of her and reappear on the other and it's difficult to imagine what they're doing out of sight. And while she could just simply pick them off one by one at random, it'll be a lot faster to take them in a particular order. Which is why she started with the hand and forearm - now she can apply the strength of her dominant hand to a substantial portion of the rest of her. And after a moment of thought, her hand goes up to the chain holding her neck, and her fingers follow it over her right shoulder as far as she can reach. She can't see this bit of chain, but it's stopping her from seeing a large portion of the rest of her and thus it has to go. And feeling where it is with her hand makes it easier for her to 'aim', much like being able to see it first. Her eyes unfocus and she's back to actually concentrating again - chains are much more difficult for her than ropes.

* * *

><p>He listened carefully as he watched her slowly cut through the rope. He understood how teasing could effect a person's ideas and opinions. He had been teased growing up as well, but he learned to brush off comments of imbeciles pretty easily. He was surprised at her logic. She wanted to help people in pain because she had felt pain.<p>

When the rope fell away her eyes gazed off into that artistic world she could only see. Her conversation had immediately stopped as if her focus couldn't be divided. Chains must be more difficult then rope. "Couldn't you easily change that personal experience into another realization…" he spoke his thoughts aloud. He had respect for the woman, but part of him wished she would understand the reasons behind his actions…understand his philosophy. "People are fickle mean creatures. You could heal one that contracted a disease, but all you really are doing is expanding the length of time that person has to be mean to other innocence. In other words, each person you heal can go off and cause more pain. If you were to let them die, you would actually decrease the pain in the world," he argued.

Even though her focus was elsewhere he had no doubt that she heard him, and he was prepared for a counter argument. The whole ordeal was rather strange. It felt like he was having this discussion on a date with an interesting potential girl friend instead of watching her escape ropes and chains. A date…he hadn't been on a date in years…unless you counted the dinner with his shrink. He wouldn't even know how to go about it…oh who was he kidding. He could put together the most romantic date any man had even thrown. A date was not much of a riddle. It would be simple.

"What's from the Middle East can be chewed or sipped, but, be prepared, if consumed in large amounts your reality starts to shifts?" he fumbled out the riddle randomly and unknowingly as his thoughts were distracted by his imaginary date. But for some reason as he kept playing out a date, the Batman kept interrupting and ruining it.

His thoughts went to the Batman. It had been awhile since he had been confronted. Was the Batman losing his edge, or was the Riddler not top priority anymore? He frowned at that thought. He would have to make his next riddle larger…maybe he could involve Nina…

No. No. He was finished with her.

* * *

><p>The second bit of chain proves to be easier than the first; as with anything, a new technique comes easier after a little practice. In fact, it takes her only two thirds of the time before she forces her hand between the chain and her neck and gives it a careful, but strong tug. The place where it breaks is completely behind her back, and she's careful to make sure that the loose end doesn't touch her when the link snaps; hot metal is nothing to fool around with at such close quarters and while she still can't move a good portion of her body.<p>

And when that effort is over, she allows her thoughts to focus on his words as she stretches her newly freed neck. "That's an interesting point," she comments, but is quick to add, "But those who are mean don't always remain mean, just as those who are kind don't always stay kind. And as I am unable to judge the current or future acts of anyone, that idea would suggest that I ought to not help anyone. But it's been my experience that the number of kind people are in the majority, so helping is a net benefit. And that those who cause the most hurt to others are those who have been hurt the most themselves. So I take the philosophy that a rising tide lifts all boats."

Though this may seem like a date to the Riddler, who can relax in a comfortable chair and doesn't trouble himself much about the recent happenings, for Nina this is an ordeal of sorts. Frankly, she makes what she's doing look easy and her emotions are about as raw as they get. And though she's chosen to make this more difficult for herself, that doesn't mean that she doesn't want to get out of here as fast as she can - though she must admit that as she does so, the conversation is a convenient distraction from any thoughts that _don't_ have to do with the ropes and chains.

She pauses again to consider them again, this time taking advantage of being able to see better with her neck free. The long lengths that keep her upper arms and shoulders against the back of the chair are inspected, and she starts tugging experimentally with her free hand at this chain or that rope in an effort to try and get a better idea of how they connect to each other behind her back. One of them has to be more important than the others, and she means to identify it. Absorbed in that task, she doesn't pay much conscious attention to the riddle but comments with a small hint of irritation, "You could say that about pretty much any fruit that happens to grow in the Middle East." She's not in the mood to be pondering over random riddles that don't have anything to do with anything! However, a moment or two later, she adds, "Dates, maybe." At least, that's the only fruit she can think of off the top of her head that comes from that region. But what that has to do with anything escapes her.

* * *

><p>"We have a very different experience then," he remarked to her argument. He had yet to meet a person who was genuinely nice. While he admits everyone has nice moments, there was always a hidden agenda behind it. Like a person who volunteers, they don't volunteer to help, but rather, they volunteer because they want to feel good about themselves or prove to other people how good they are. "If you don't care about a person past because you cannot predict the future, why then are you reluctant to help me? Is there no possibility I could change?" he asked pointing out the flaw in her logic. He would never accept her help, but he wanted to see if his theory was correct. He wanted to see if the major reason she would not offer it was because she was afraid of being used by him…or if she was only being a hypocrite, and the real reason was she didn't want to help a 'bad' person.<p>

It surprised him for a moment when she solved the riddle.

One because she solved it.

Two because he hadn't realized he'd given it.

His slightly shock expression was there for the briefest of seconds before he collected himself once again. He needed to stop thinking about Nina in a relationship type of way. It kept causing him to slip up and leave…riddles…to his feelings.

What feelings?

He had not feelings. He glanced down at the tootsie pop wrapper. For some reason, he had no dying urge to have one. Strange. He then noticed his notes, and the riddle he had planned to give the Batman…who had never showed. No wonder Nina had become the focus of his thoughts. His other chess opponent had disappeared. "Nina, may I ask a favor of you?" he stated still looking over his notes.

* * *

><p>With each tug of a chain or rope, the picture of what they do behind her back grows. And she can be seen nodding to herself as she selects one of the ropes and holds it in her hand - obviously the one to cut in her opinion because she pulls it tight and gets that look in her eyes.<p>

But though she's able to keep enough focus on the rope to not let it interrupt her, his questions cause a tired sort of sadness to cross her face. His lack of perspective on her situation is simply astonishing to her. Well, time to enlighten him a little. "Because nobody has ever hurt me so badly before, and now... I just don't know what I think right now," she says quietly, before adding with a stronger voice, "And even before that - I don't think it's unreasonable for me to withhold things when I have reason to be concerned for my personal safety. And before _that_ - if I helped everyone I run into who could use my help, I wouldn't have time for anything else. And I help a lot more people by spending a day in the lab than I'd ever be able to help by spending a day in a hospital. That's why."

How he reacts to her answer to the riddle goes unnoticed: partly because she hadn't really been trying very hard and partly because her full attention now turns to the rope in her hand. With a strong tug it breaks in two, and as she unwinds the rest of it from both ends, it's obvious she chose the one that was the tightest. And her attention turns immediately to a chain that she'd identified earlier. Holding it loosely in her hand, her eyes go to where it disappears behind her before they become distant with a more concentrated focus. She can't actually see it, though perhaps the Riddler can, but she's identified a chain that heads straight into a padlock. It's too hard for her to tell how many chains meet at that point, but it's certainly more effective to take out the chains where they connect rather than breaking them one by one.

It's difficult for her to focus on the metal and to talk at the same time, but his last question is simple enough to answer. "That depends on the favor," she replies distractedly - probably not an unexpected answer unless the Riddler is concerned that she'd say 'no' just to be difficult.

* * *

><p>He felt some pride in knowing he was changing her ridiculous notion, but he didn't appreciate the depressed look in her eyes when she stated it. He also did not appreciate being the blame of her pain. He still firmly believed it was her choice to let the girl die, but the only sign of irritation could be seen in his risen eyebrow before his face turned blank again. He would not defend himself again. He was right. She was wrong. She would learn over time that everyone must be held responsible for their own decisions instead of pushing the blame onto others. Her reasoning for not healing him in the beginning was interesting. It gave him a more detailed picture of the type of person she was. He was starting to realize that while aspect of their personality were very similar, their ideological views were very different. It was probably why they could have such interesting thought challenging conversations.<p>

"You obviously believe helping the overall public is much more important than any individual. If you had choose between saving your mother or saving hundreds of people would you still choose the public good? And if you chose your mother, what made that individual more valuable then the others? Is right for you to label which person is more important then another?" he challenged her. They were all thoughts he had come to terms to himself. He had realized that no one deserved any respect unless they themselves earned it. To him people were dirt until they proved him otherwise.

He noticed Nina's focus on the chains. It was impressive that she could still have such an interesting conversation with him while escaping. He wondered if she was annoyed by his banter, but why would he care. When he saw the padlock move as she shifted, he realized her plan. He smirked. She would be out of the chair in a little bit. "The favor is easy. You will be visited by the Batman or one of his brats very soon, and I only need a message to be delivered," he responded politely.

* * *

><p><em>Was<em> he changing her opinion? Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't. When Nina said that she doesn't know what she thinks, she means simply that. She hasn't had the time to figure out what any of this means to her. But she knows that she's going to have to do that, and the sooner the better. Holding onto something so painful is like holding onto a hot coal; the longer you hold it, the more it burns you.

She doesn't respond immediately this time; it requires too much of her attention to first locate and then figure out the best way to break it, and it slows her considerably to have to do this without being able to even see or touch it. It's all too easy to get lost when you're feeling something at such a small scale. It takes her a full minute to locate it, feel around until she's certain that she's found the part that keeps the lock from opening, and weaken the metal in that part. Then she simply throws as much weight as she can against the chains around her upper body, figuring that many of them would link to that padlock, and uses her free hand to also pull against the one chain that she knows for certain leads to it. There's an audible _click_ when the padlock fails, and at the same time a few of the chains around her upper body come loose. More are simply caught on each other and simply need to be tugged free.

"It isn't right," Nina agrees with his logic as she pulls each chain in turn off of her shoulders, "That's why I've come to love statistics. They give me an unbiased way to decide where my attention is most needed. Still, it's difficult to pass the individual by, and I have to recognize that I'm human. I don't give myself much free time, but what I do in it is my business. And there are many people who have had the good fortune of having a problem obvious enough for me to notice but small enough for me to take care of quickly and to remain in my presence long enough." But if Nina takes any sense of pride in that, it doesn't show on her face. She'd come to the opposite conclusion of the Riddler: _everyone_ is valuable and therefore deserves her help but, since it's impossible for her to help everyone, she feels the need to do as much as she can.

Now she has all the freshly loosened chains off of her upper body, leaving her primarily bound by rope. But many of those ropes have been loosened due to the other bonds removed, and Nina's able to lower her right shoulder far enough to get it under the remaining ropes, and lifts her entire arm straight up so that they rest on top of her shoulder. This both entirely frees her right arm and loosens the ropes around her left shoulder, which she can now remove by using her free hand and arm to lift them over her head. This leaves her left arm only bound from elbow to hand, but with her upper arm free it's easy enough to simply shift her arm so that she can slide the whole thing out backward - no need for further tedious cutting with her mind there.

Within a few short moments, she's bound only from the waist down, and she immediately starts to untie the remaining ropes by hand, now that they're both available. Dealing with large objects the conventional way is almost always easier, though she'll probably still need to use her powers to get out of the remaining chains. Then again, with as much mobility as she's just gained, she's obviously going to make short work of them.

When the favor is described, she nods her head. She hadn't been thinking about Gotham's self-appointed heroes at all, though when he mentions them it's obvious enough to her that he's right that she'll be contacted by one. And they'll probably want to know exactly what happened, she'll probably tell them everything, and that probably won't help them very much at all. And there would be no harm in her passing along a message; that would simply be a convenience for him since he could always find another way to contact them if she refused. "I can do that. What's the message?"

* * *

><p>He couldn't help the legitimate smile that crossed his face as he watched the woman wiggle in the bounds. It wasn't arrogant or taunting, but instead genuine. The deadly serious expression on her face while she wiggled around like a trapped caterpillar was too…adorable…no hilarious. He almost laughed right there, but he knew she would take offense. The action might be humorous, but it was also amazing. She had managed to break the padlock and gain freedom to her upper body. He should have been watching the time. He could have determined whether the gas would have filled the room killing her or if she would have escaped in time. Just estimating it, he determined it could have gone either way. However, impending death caused a person to hurry.<p>

After she was partially free she responded to his statements. She was doing what most politicians do in these types of debates…partially agree with both sides so there is nothing to argue. She agreed that it wasn't right to chose which individual deserve favor, but admitted that it happens. She's only human. It ruined his argument because she accepted it. "So your individual help is only given based on the luck of the individual. Harvey will be happy to know his cynical life view is more accurate then I believed it to be," he commented somewhat sarcastically. Mostly out of annoyance that he couldn't think of a better argument, but how can you convince someone that there opinion wrong when they already admit to its faults.

He watched as her hands started working on the rest of the ropes and chains. He was happy she agreed to give the message. He wondered why she acted so causally around him even though she admitted multiple occasions that she was afraid and mad at him. He rarely noticed either emotion.

"Riddles and jokes are no fun unless they're _shares_ with everyone. Batman will understand, and please remember to say it the exact same way or it loses its purpose," he said knowing she would easily and successfully complete the task.

* * *

><p>Time always seemed to be the main constraint of her gift to Nina. She could move a mountain with her gift - it would simply take a very long time. The real genius of it has always been the way she uses it; always target the weakest point where a minimum of effort would produce the most results. And also to always use it in the best <em>way<em>. Without that insight on how to melt the metal, she'd still be carving away at the first link. Instead she'll free herself from the chair in just under six minutes, and much of that time was spent in thought. And if she had to do it all over again, she'd be notably faster simply due to having had so much practice melting metal.

The sarcastic comment doesn't seem to phase her at all. "Life's not fair," she responds, "Fairness is an ideal I stopped taking seriously a long time ago. Not that I don't _try_ to be fair, but I know from the beginning that I won't succeed." And as she says this she pauses to look up at Heather, the now familiar expression of sadness tugging at her features for a moment before she looks back down at the ropes and continues untying them.

Nina pauses once more to carefully store the message to memory after the Riddler gives it, repeating it quietly to herself once and nodding at the importance of the wording. If Batman doesn't figure out what it means, then it won't be because she didn't deliver it correctly.

That done, she removes the last of the rope and turns her attention to the chains. Is there another padlock? She's still too confined in her chair to see, but she manages to find it with her fingers. And the difference that makes plus the fact that she's done it once is striking; the first had taken a full minute, while knowing the exact location of the second and not having to figure it out again cuts the time down to a mere fifteen seconds from first touch to the quick jerk of her legs that actually breaks it. And after that it's easy enough to pull the chains off of her lap and pull her legs out of the rest. She is free.

* * *

><p>He nodded in agreement at her statement. Life wasn't fair, but it was for that very reason he took control of it. He would not let unfair actions based on chance rule his outcomes. He learned to judge the cost and benefits of every choice and use it to his advantage. One of the benefits of discarding society's false moral code opened up an opportunity for him to create fairness…or at least fairness for himself.<p>

He couldn't help but smirk when she quietly whispered his message to herself. There was something about Nina completely a task he assigned that made him feel proud…almost like she was working for him. Once again the image of Echo's old outfit came to mind. He remembered how all the other rogues made fun of the strange design, but they we're jealous that they didn't have half dress girls around them obeying every order…they we're extremely unintelligent though…rather annoying. When those two girls were sent off to Blackgate, he promised himself, never again.

But those outfits were so…

He heard the sound of chains hit the ground and watched as Nina stood up from the chair. He brought his hands together in a slow applause. "Congrats," he answered with a joking smile as he glanced down at his blackberry. He texted Allen quickly as he continued to speak, "You are finally free of me, Nina."

The metal door swung open revealing the big muscled man who had a scowl on his face. "Of course, she's alive," he mumbled under his breath before turning back out the door.

The comment didn't go unnoticed by the Riddler, but he would punish him when he got back to the warehouse. His eyes were focused on Nina again. He would never see her again…how disappointing. No, it was fine. The riddle was over. "I enjoyed the challenge," he tilted his bowler cap in respect, "And I hope you enjoy your life." The last statement was said a bit darker, but he meant it sincerely.

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><p>As she stands and glances back at the chair surrounded by chains and ropes she removed herself, Nina feels... empty. Not proud of herself for completing a hard task so quickly and more easily than she'd expected at first, not relief in having that over with, but... nothing. Emotionally, she's simply too exhausted to feel very much at all. In a way, she almost feels like she's half there, while the other half is missing - waiting for her to find it again when the time is right.<p>

The clapping and joking words seem to be ignored for a moment, but then she quietly replies, "I'm no more or less free of you now than I was before the first chain broke." And that cryptic statement is said with near complete dispassion; just stating a fact. The chains and ropes hadn't been what held her here, and it wasn't their removal that now gave her the option of leaving.

When Allen appears she looks up at him as if woken up from a daze, though the Riddler's last words cause her to pause thoughtfully as if she's about to say something. But instead she turns and looks at Heather for a moment, her eyes flicker over to the Riddler with a faint look of disappointment behind them, and she follows Allen out the door without saying another word.

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><p>Edward sat in his large black leather chair for a while just staring over the aftermath of the riddle. Nina had left a long time ago, but he couldn't get over her statement. He liked the idea that she saw him forever with her….but…<p>

She said it soo…harshly. It slightly ruffled his feathers like almost all the things Nina did. His finger tapped his lip as he chewed over his thoughts. It was over, and he shouldn't be thinking about it anymore yet his mind kept going over everything…especially her first words. She had admitted feelings for him. Did she really feel that way? And if she did, did it really matter? No, it didn't. The riddle was over, and Nina hated him.

He awoke from his thoughts when the sound of the door opened. He turned his head to see Allen entering. He must have been staring at the screen for at least forty minutes if Allen had managed to make it back. "Boss, ya gotsa phone call," he said unenthusiastically. Bobby must have forced Allen to get him because the young boy was too afraid to interrupt him.

The Riddler nodded. "Tell them to hold. I'll be there in a moment," he spoke quickly as he turned back to the screen. He quickly typed in code for the virus that would hide his IP address when the Batman or whoever finally showed. He then pressed enter disconnecting the two computers leaving the screen at the scene of the riddle with a large green question mark. Once he was finished, he grabbed his cane and pushed himself out of the chair. "Hand me the phone," he stated as he headed out of the small room. He had more important things to focus on instead of Nina Stenet.


	6. Nina's Notebook

a/n:I wrote nothing in this chapter. It was all Nina. Btw there are some statements that are supposed to be crossed out, but fanfiction doesn't allow that. So guess you have a riddle, which statements did Nina cross out? lol jk but just something to keep in mind.

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><p>It's over... finally Nina can say that it's over. Or at least it's over physically; she's alone and at home for the first time since she left for work the morning before it all happened. But a part of her emotions are still trapped in that room, listening to the silence after a gunshot. And they will stay there until she lets them come out and confronts them. She couldn't have handled them then; she'd had her own survival and safety to work out, but now that she knows that she's alive and safe she can't wait any longer. It will be painful, but in the end it will be less painful than keeping the emotions suppressed and the longer she avoids the task, the harder it will be.<p>

When she allows her mind to go back to that moment, the pain is nearly unbearable. She finds herself pacing back and forth through the apartment, searching her feelings for the right way to manage them. But after a moment, she hits upon a solid idea and grabs notebook out of her briefcase. Writing down her thoughts and feelings should help - the process of putting such things into words makes them seem more solid and able to be worked with. And it's easy enough to work out a system - anything she writes that her logic rejects immediately is crossed out (lying to herself won't help anything) and conclusions that actually speak to her emotions are underlined as she writes one thought that's causing her pain at a time and tries to address it. And she starts at the very top.

**Heather's death is my fault.**

It's all the Riddler's fault.

No, no, she needs to go deeper than that!

What decisions did I make that lead to this? Why did I make the decisions that let up to this in the way that I did? Because: I was afraid of the Riddler. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I underestimated the Riddler when I first met him. I know I'm a terrible actress. I don't like being patronized. I'm easily annoyed by arrogance. I don't like to fight. My work is my top priority. I'm not easily intimidated. I try to find peaceful ways out of dangerous situations. I'm stubborn. I'm honest. I don't run away from what I can't get away from. I underestimate the deviousness and cruelty of bad people. I see my life as more valuable to humanity than that of others. I have no tolerance for people who play with the lives of others. I can't allow myself to be controlled.

She reviews that list, looking at it carefully in an attempt to see if she missed anything at all, starting at the museum; even one missing reason for her decisions would be unacceptable here. But instead she sees something else.

My only fault throughout this was being an imperfect person.

And as she writes that conclusion, she feels it as well. Most of guilt seems to simply melt away into something tiny: She's imperfect. And it's perfectly okay to be imperfect. This realization doesn't make the guilt go away entirely, but now it's at a level that fits her crime. And there are more painful thoughts to tackle.

**Heather died for something not worth the price of her life.**

Her death proved to me and (perhaps) to the Riddler that I can't be forced into using my gift.

Not enough.

It saved _my_ life, and because of that she indirectly saved the lives of everyone _I_ save from now on.

Still not enough.

Her life, like anyone's, is invaluable. I will never be able to make up for that, but I will try.

The lessening of her sadness about the situation is marginal, but welcome. It would seem wrong to her if what happened didn't feel terrible to her anyway. That's not the point of this exercise; it's to bring the pain to a realistic level, not remove it.

**I should have tried to save both of us anyway.**

I don't know that I could have. It might have killed both of us. I couldn't weigh the odds of the situation, so I had to do what seemed less risky at the time.

Having started at the strongest pain, each question that rises to the surface becomes easier.

And she finds herself coming up with an overall conclusion that answers all of what still pains her:

A terrible person put me in a terrible situation and terrible things happened. At worst it was minimally my fault, and on top of that it was meant to hurt me so the more I let it hurt me the more that terrible person won.

Let her stubbornness and unwillingness to be controlled do battle against her misery - they will win!

By now Nina is feeling a lot better. It still hurts, but now it's a manageable ache - primarily a deep sorrow that any of it happened at all. And she knows that it will ease over time and she can live with it. And she realizes something else: she's exhausted. However long the chloroform knocked her out, that didn't really count as sleep, and between the physical, mental, and emotional stress that she's been under she could really use some rest. And if what she's sorted out already in her notebook isn't enough to let her mind rest, then she can certainly use her gift to help her fall asleep. But she knows that there's more left to write...

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><p>When she wakes up from a long sleep, Nina takes some time to care for herself. In fact she's taking the day off from work - something that pretty much anyone would do without a second thought after an experience like this. In fact, most people would probably take more than a day off. But for Nina it was something she actually had to consider; she'd just paid such a terrible price to keep herself alive, just so that she could continue her research. But if she doesn't take care of herself first then she won't be useful to anyone, and she certainly has a day's worth of things that need to be done for herself. No more than that, though, and it would be very good for her spirits to jump back into her regular routine.<p>

But today... today she needs to focus on herself so that she can once again forget about herself, and that means picking up her notebook again. First she looks over what she's already written and takes a moment to remind herself of the conclusions. Yes, she has to accept a very small portion of the responsibility for Heather's death, but it's not unforgivable. It didn't happen because she's a terrible person.

Which brings her to another series of questions that have been plaguing her: what about the terrible person who _is_ to blame for this? Now that her guilt and grief have been hacked down to size, what's risen to take it's place is anger. Anger that she knows is probably just as bad for her to hold on to, even though she's more certain that it's justified. And like the other negative emotions, it needs to be put into perspective as well. She begins to write...

**Do I hate the Riddler?**

But after she writes the question, she has a very difficult time figuring out how to even begin to answer it. It's a question full of so many tangled thoughts and emotions that it's difficult to make sense of it. But then finds a way to address it: starting from something she's certain of, and working her way to it from there.

People like him are not born that way. Which means that something must have happened to him. Probably several things, terrible things. That leg... what would I be like if I had to live with that leg?

She has a unique perspective on that: with her gift she's able to directly measure the exact level of pain that a person's nerves are sending to their brain. And she can all too easily remember the level it had been at when she'd checked it at the museum; it had hurt _her_ in a way to simply be aware of it.

I don't know him, and I can't judge him. People like him don't happen for no reason - doesn't excuse him, but it does give him an argument for mercy. And a doctor shouldn't be concerned with judging someone anyway. I don't hate him, I pity him.

Perhaps she would even sympathize if she knew more about his life. This is all guesswork, but like she told him it's the ones who have been the most hurt themselves that cause the most hurt to others.

And if he asked me in the right way, I'd help him with my gift.

And there's the answer to that other question that's been plaguing her since she'd had to admit that she was unsure. And there, regretfully, goes the anger. A large part of her wanted to hold on to it; to keep it burning within her for Heather's sake. But that same part of her that ached so easily at the thought of Heather's death also couldn't let her rage against the Riddler continue.

There was one further question that bothered her, though answering it seemed easy enough:

**What should I do about the way I feel about him?**

I don't even know that I'm going to see him again - he had plenty of time to satisfy his curiosity about me, and he let me go when he was done. And if that's the case, I don't even have a choice. But even if I do see him again, acting on my feelings is a bad idea. And it's not like he'd ever return them.

As her pen crosses out that last part seemingly of its own accord, Nina stops and frowns at the words. Why had it seemed so easy and automatic for her to dismiss that as yet another lie that doesn't belong in her notebook? Surely it's true! ...Isn't it?

_If he does or could care about me, then he'd never had killed Heather!_ she boldly challenges that thought. But then how can she explain that look on his face afterward? She's never had anything to do with a murderer before, but surely it's not normal for them to look so... unhappy about it. And when she'd tried to ask him about it, he'd lied both to her and himself. And he'd called her beautiful and intelligent and... he even seemed to be impressed with her, despite his obviously massive ego. And he'd distractedly asked her a riddle about _dates_, of all things! The only reason why she ever could have missed all of that was because she'd been so focused on her own survival and her own pain at the time!

Shocked at that realization, she drops the notebook on the coffee table and starts to pace throughout her entire apartment, doing something she never does: swearing. In fact she starts setting a new personal record for her longest string of expletives when she says the second word. Such language has always seemed too base to find its way into her vocabulary, though if how quickly and easily they pour out of her mouth now with so little repetition is any indication she's certainly well-versed in her options. And she's even able to choose from three different languages, which she now uses interchangeably. But not one of the words comes remotely close to describing what she's feeling right now.

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><p>It takes awhile, but eventually Nina's able to calm herself. Whether it's because this new-found revelation has finally managed to become an acceptable part of her understanding or whether she simply ran out of creative ways to express her feelings about it is difficult to say, but she finally manages to stop the flow of forbidden words and confine her pacing to the front area near the couches.<p>

While her own feelings for the Riddler were acceptable to her and even freely admitted, it was bad, very bad, for him to feel the same way in return. Having an unreturned infatuation for entirely the wrong person is a simple matter; ignore the feeling until it goes away. But to have it _returned_ and by _him_... horribly, horribly complicates things. It would be bad enough if her own feelings weren't involved; she's already seen that his interest can be deadly. There's still the promising signs that he may be unaware of his own feelings - perhaps he'll remain ignorant of them and nothing will come of it. But whether he's aware of them or not, this vastly increases the odds that she'll see him again. And every time she's seen him, it's been a life-threatening situation.

But her feelings in return makes that even worse - a strong part of her _wants_ to see him again. Wants to be around him where she can hear every brilliant word that he says, see if she can't figure out how that amazing mind works, and even face the challenge that it is to simply talk to him. It's like she's a moth being lured in by a particularly brilliant flame... One that could very well come after _her_ even if she chooses to resist the attraction.

With some effort, she forces herself to sit down and pick up her notebook again, not noticing that she'd subconsciously picked the very spot where the Riddler had sat as he read her book not all that long ago. Turning the notebook to a fresh page, she wrote the question again:

**What should I do about the way I feel about him?**

It's never a feeling itself that's wrong, but what I do about the feeling. The option of ignoring my feelings is a good one, but what are my other options and which ones are right and which ones are wrong?

_That_ is probably the best way for her to figure all of this out. It's always difficult making her feelings comply with boundaries set by her logic, but in a situation as full of potentially perilous problems as this she has to keep a tight rein on them.

Even mean and selfish people deserve to receive kindness, and even love from those who want to give it. So there is nothing inherently wrong even with acting upon these feelings.

And there's something very comforting about being able to write that not only without having to cross it out, but also to underline it.

But acting upon these kinds of feelings becomes a problem sometimes - I'm not the first woman to feel this way about a mean and selfish person, and many of those women end up hurt, abused, and even dead because of their love.

She frowns at this; hasn't she already been deeply hurt by this man? Didn't she, to a certain extent, allow it? But no... she'd had much better reasons for that then her feelings for the Riddler. Still, it was a scary thought...

New Rule: I do not act upon feelings of love for someone who is hurting me or I believe will hurt me.

And the rules that Nina sets for herself are very strongly adhered to. They're meant to protect her from doing things that will do nothing but harm her, no matter how good of an idea they seem to be when she's in the moment and making the decision. It's easier to have made the decision long before that. And while this particular rule may seem, to the outside observer, to preclude her having any involvement with the Riddler, it doesn't. She does not trust him, not even a little bit. But she _could_ trust him; there's a way...

And I have very little reason to not defend myself now if the Riddler tries to hurt me again. Regardless of how I feel about him, I will protect myself from any further pain caused by him.

Which is a scary conclusion that she, nevertheless, feels that she has to come to. Before, when she'd even allowed him to hurt her a little, it had been to conceal her gift and to try not to give him reason to hate her. But now that he not only knows what her gift is but how dangerous she is and the lengths that she will go to in order to keep it fully under her own control, she feels that he's out of any reason to try and hurt her except out of a simple desire to be cruel to her. And she's not the little girl that she'd told him about who would cry rather than fight back; she's a woman who has realized that it's perfectly okay to defend yourself as long as you do so in the least hurtful way that actually works. And she has a very long list of options that comes with that.

Pulling herself out of those thoughts, she reviews what she's written, trying to decide if what she has there is complete or not. And after carefully reviewing them, she can honestly say that she thinks that these boundaries are reasonable and will keep her from doing anything wrong here. Even though the open end of what may happen if things stay within the boundaries scares her a bit...


	7. Coffee Please

A/n: Hey! It's been awhile since I posted for this and since I've gotten a bunch of reviews and alerts I decided to post. ^^ Thanks people! I really enjoy them. Just so everyone knows, this story has been all written out. If you want me to post the next chapter, just nag me and I'll do it. Also I'm tired putting in the break every time the writer/perspective changes. Just know that when there is a new character it is written from a different player on our site. Except for Robby and Allen. I write them.

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><p>Edward sat at the small table in the back corner. His notebook was opened with swirls of numbers and tiny printed words that made no coherent sense to anyone else but himself. His pen tapped against the upper edge. He had created an amazing plan that almost seemed flawless. Of course, it wasn't flawless. Batman was always a threat in the back of his mind, yet for some reason every time he started thinking of Batman his mind went back to his latest riddle.<p>

He thought of the way her lips tensed when her eyes had the artistic glaze to them. He remembered how her brown hair seemed stuck to her brow, but it didn't destroy her intensity. He remembered how with each accomplishment she would smile for a mere moment before focusing on the next task.

Stop it, Nigma. You need to be focusing on your next plan. You cannot have room for error especially with other players in the game.

His pen tapped harder on the edge of his notebook producing a large black spot. He never had this problem before. His mind was trained to create and solve…not to fluster over the silly movements of a girl. He looked up from the table to see other _interesting_ customers. The cliental here was not as nice as the Iceberg, but it provided a spot for Edward to think. He didn't have to hear the pounding music behind the wall here. Instead all he heard were quiet whispers and movements of dishes. Every now and then, he could even snag a piece of information he could use for later. The coffee shop had become his second office in a way. It was only two blocks away from his main hideout.

His eyes fell back onto the yellow notebook with black marks. He wished he knew how far the Batman had gotten in determining his riddle. Had he spoken to Nina yet? He should meet up with her to see.

No.

It was a small tiny fragment that had no factor in his plan. He needed to focus on the Joker, and whether he would actually go through with their agreement. He also needed to find another rogue to send Batman on a goose chase. He had so much to do…so many pieces to put in place.

Why couldn't he focus?

Coffee.

Yes, he needed coffee. He looked up in search for the quiet owner, and spotted her wiping the back counter down. He held up his hand in a wave as if ordering her to get over here now.

A bit of a lull has taken over the cafe - the customers already present are content and there aren't any new ones waiting to order. Margaret always uses moments like this to catch up on work the work that piles up during busier hours: dishes, wiping down counters, and cleaning up the mess she'd made during busier moments.

She recognizes the man in the back corner - she has a good memory for people despite the number of them that she sees on a daily basis, and she's glad to have such repeat customers; a bit impatient perhaps, but doesn't cause trouble. Just sits by himself with that focused expression on his face. But despite her work load and the attention she's giving all the other customers in her cafe, she doesn't fail to notice that he's different today. Clearly something is disrupting that normal focus, and it looks like it's a very _big_ something.

It's almost a relief to her when he waves a hand, and she only pauses long enough to set aside the rag she's using on the counter before she walks over at her naturally quick pace. "What can I do for you?" she asks in her normal, reserved tone. Clearly, what he actually needs is for someone to talk to about whatever is on his mind, but she's guessing that he's not going to ask for that. But since things are currently slow, she'll be happy to give it to him anyway - though she'll get him whatever it is that he _thinks_ that he needs first.

The older woman came quickly to his table. He had been coming here for a few months now, yet he still hadn't determined her name. Partially because he didn't care enough to waste his time with such pitiable information, and partially because the woman didn't speak out of turn. She spoke when she believed it was her place to speak, and he greatly appreciated it. He assumed most of her customer's appreciated it. If they didn't, she probably wouldn't have the amount of business she had everyday.

Trust.

That's what she had managed to create between her and the underbelly of Gotham. Edward admittedly felt a sense of trust between the old coffee shop owner. He hadn't once felt threatened the GCPD would barge in, or be knocking at his hide out a day later. He amazingly enough, didn't even think the Batman would randomly appear from the shadows. It was stable. He knew when he came here he would get his coffee and think.

"Coffee. Black. Three Sugars," he stated like a fact sheet instead of a polite order. He wasn't purposefully trying to be rude, but he wasn't in the mood to be flamboyantly witty. He had little sleep. He had a plan that had to be finished by the end of the week. He had the Joker to worry about. He had…

A woman that kept popping into his mind like an all consuming tape worm.

Therefore, it was no surprise that Edward actually missed the clues on the owner's expression. A worry look and glancing eyes were as easily deduced as how to win tic tac toe, but Edward wasn't there. His mind was racing off into a loud storm filled with too many riddles. He couldn't keep up as he tried to sort them all through.

He sighed, rubbing his hand along his tired face before turning back to the notes. You solve a puzzle by working through the steps. He could do it. He just needed his notes to stop blurring together in a black mess of scribbles..

Giving the order a small murmur of acknowledgment, Margaret heads back behind the counter and makes it to order with the quickness and ease of many years of practice. It would seem like mere moments before she returns and quietly sets the cup of coffee in front of the man. But instead of quietly turning away to continue with her other work, she does something probably wholly unexpected; she sits down across from him.

"I've owned this place and have been running it by myself for over twenty years," she says abruptly, "And I know what a person looks like when they've got something on their mind that needs to be talked out - so don't you dare lie to me and tell me any different." And then she stops and waits expectantly, ready to hear anything. There's an observant quality to her eyes as well - one that takes in a lot more than it seems to at first glance.

Sure, she got a lot of customers by having the good sense to keep her mouth shut and pretending to not pay any attention to matters that didn't concern her. But she also keeps a lot of customers because of this trait: if someone needs her and she doesn't have to go too far out of her way to do it, then she helps them. In the end, most people appreciate occasionally getting what they need on top of getting what they want out of their visit to her cafe.

The smell of coffee on swirling along his nose did nothing to drag him out of his daze. He had begun relating to the curve of his 'a's to the curve of Nina cheek…yelling at himself to focus on what the words actually said. So when the sound of the chair across from him moved and the owner plopped herself down, he flinched like a scared child.

Her words only made sense in the middle of her little intervention. He frowned. Didn't he just give her credit for basically minding her own business? He immediately preferred when she wasn't speaking. He came here to think not to talk…especially not to talk with some average woman who dedicated her life to making coffee for thugs and occasionally geniuses like himself. He had better things to do then grace her with a conversation to edge away her concern. Why did she care anyways? He ordered. He paid. He left. It was a simple method that she was throwing off completely and ruining his already horrid mood. He wondered if the older lady even realized who he was.

"There is always something on my mind, but that doesn't mean you have a prestige stature to hear it," he commented causally not trying to be mean enough that she kicked him out of his second office but also not kind enough that she would stay. He then glanced back down at his notes in order to get the idea he didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't like there was actually something bothering him. He just had a lot on his plate at the moment. Any normal person would be overwhelmingly stress; it's surprising he wasn't in a full break down.

Well not surprising to him, he never felt out of control.

The words Margaret gets in return prompt a small pursing of the lips, but his attempt to dismiss her goes completely disregarded. It's been her experience that the most abrasive of people are the ones who need to talk to her the most - quite possibly because they've driven anyone else they might have talked to away from themselves. And simply calling her... what did that even mean anyway? No matter, it's not the worst that she's heard.

"It's not what's on the top of your mind that I want to know about," she answers carefully, as if assuming that the reason that she didn't get the answer she wanted was because she was misunderstood, "It's whatever's stopping you from thinking about that for more than a minute or two." Leaning back in her chair and starting to watch him even more carefully, her voice is tired when she adds, "Or you can just sit there and let me guess - it works out to be about the same to me."

It's always the smart ones that give her the most trouble with this sort of thing - assuming that she's some sort of idiot just because she's never gone beyond running her little cafe. But that's not the reason she's stayed here for so long, no: life happened. A whole lot of it, and all at once. And she rather suspects that she learned as much from that as anyone with their fancy degrees. Her ability to quickly get a sense of a person, for example, is not something you learn in college. Not in the way she does it, anyway: it's like an instinct based on how they move rather than a conscious effort to pick up on the minute details. She merely has to remember what this man looked like all the other times she's seen him, compare that with what he's like today, and speculate on what could have made the difference.

And what she knows or guesses about who he is other than a regular at her cafe is, like a lot of things, something that she's never going to talk about.

Her response is completely ridiculous and caused him to look up at her with irritated features. Did she seriously believe he had misinterpreted her? He prayed that her obliviousness was a façade to lower his expectations of her, but knew it was most likely caused from her lack of brain function. The fact that she was speaking to him as if he were a kindergartener learning basic math only caused a tingle of pain along his leg.

His hand jumped to his pocket and pulled out his candy. If this woman continued to bother him, he would have an empty pocket by the end of it. He popped the candy into his mouth as he attempted to ignore the rest of her words. Did everyone in the world have to be sooo…stupid? No, not everyone some people were rare…but once again he forced the thought away.

_and let me guess_…

The word caused an eyebrow to rise along his forehead as his attention went to the coffee shop owner again. "Guess? Like a riddle…" he said in a quiet tone, talking more to himself then to her. Talking to her was exhausting and it had only started, but watching her deduce a riddle like himself would be entertaining in a sad pathetic way…like watching a three legged dog attempt to walk.

"Okay," he finally decided, "If you can figure out the enigma I have no reason to protest." He crossed his arm over his chest as leaned back in chair waiting patiently for this failed attempt.

There's just the slightest look of triumph in Margaret's eyes as he at least consents to let her take a guess. But it's not going to be a shot-in-the-dark type of guess; she _knows_ people.

Knows that every time this man has turned up in her cafe, he's had that deeply focused look on his face that he just can't seem to maintain today. But whatever problems he'd been pondering so deeply, they didn't seem to frustrate him; no, they were simply complex and not actually more difficult than he could manage. However, what was interrupting him today was different; he was avoiding it - perhaps it was a problem that was beyond him, or perhaps it was something he'd simply rather not consider. What sort of problem would such a smart man avoid?

She knows, based on the way he interacts with others including herself, that he's not the type that allows himself to get close to anyone. In fact, he seems to make a point of doing just the opposite. So one thing he certainly avoids is relationships... Putting two and two together after that realization is simple enough.

It _does_ take her several long moments to reach that conclusion, but eventually she says, "So tell me about this woman." And while it _is_, as she said, a guess, it's one that she can put a lot of confidence behind. People she can't read are few and far between, especially when she really concentrates at it. She can't claim to be any great intellect, but she _does_ have her talents.

He watched her carefully with an arrogant smirk dancing on his face. He did love to see the little people attempt to come up with logical responses. It was interesting to note the way she puzzled over it. He wondered if parents got this much entertainment from watching their children attempt their homework. When she still seemed stuck in thought after a few long minutes he almost laughed and shooed the woman back to the kitchen. _Come again when you have studied and prepared_, he almost taunted but then the words left her mouth.

He frowned. The quick burst of giddiness draining from his system by the one question. Woman? There was no woman, even though an unwanted image of Nina entered his thoughts. She wasn't a woman…well she was…but that didn't mean she was bothering him. So what if she was a challenging player who out-witted him on occasion, she was just like every other person in Gotham.

Useless.

"I haven't spoken to my mother in years," he deflected, "so unfortunately I have nothing to say. Nice try, I would offer you a second chance, but as you can tell, I am working on something." He grabbed his pen quickly and pointed at his notebooks. "It's hard to work when someone's interrupting your thoughts," he commented, nodding to the older woman...even though his subconscious was blaming someone else for that burden. He once again looked down at his notes so his hat hid most of his face as he tapped on his notebook impatiently. He hoped his body language gave hint for the woman to leave. He had come to the conclusion that she was intellectually slower, but _no one_ had such a low IQ to miss all of his obvious signs of displeasure.

The evasiveness causes Margaret to frown slightly; she'd thought that she'd made it pretty obvious by now that she wasn't so easy to get rid of. Such a stubborn man, this one. And the way he works around it tells her that she was right: any idiot could tell that she hadn't been referring to his mother, so that he said that instead of telling her she was wrong makes it clear that she'd reached the right conclusion.

Aside from picking out that detail, she disregards the rest of his irrelevant statements and instead responds only to the last one. "Yes, I'm sure it is. That's why you need to talk to me about her. Whatever it is that you're doing will take at least twice as long otherwise," she points out dryly. Can't the poor man see that she's trying to help him?

For a moment she considers the possibility of trying to read even more into the situation now that she's sure that she was correct that he's having some sort of woman trouble. However, there are so many different types of that kind of problem that it gets hazy after that. She'd need to know more about either this man or the woman he's obsessing over to draw it out much further. And for all she knows he could be having several of them at the same time.

Instead she comments, "And there ain't nobody better to talk about a woman to than another woman. And I ain't known to repeat anything I hear." As she says this she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head up with one of her hands.

The pressure put on his pen was starting to cause a hole in the front page of his notebook. He couldn't even look up at the woman who had decided to keep pestering him. Did he just attract stubborn women? He wished he had some type of repellant like bug spray. He didn't understand why it was so difficult for him to work alone.

He felt the gun in his waistband that taunted him for an easy escape, but his logical side knew that was slightly dramatic. He obviously couldn't get rid of her. He could leave…but he had spent twelve hours in his warehouse and had nothing finished. It was that very reason he was now in the coffee shop with a woman trying to pry into his mind. He let out an annoyed sigh. If he talked to her, maybe she would leave him alone.

But she wanted to talk about her…

He had no reason to talk about her.

Her last comment lightened his mood. He smiled and a short chuckle left his mouth. Talking to a woman about a woman was a horrible option. Women tended to exaggerate facts to make their simple bleak lives of cooking more exciting. Women were not a riddle. They were simple: flattery and gifts. Done. If he really wanted Nina he could have her, but he didn't want Nina.

He looked up from his notebook with content look. If she really wanted to talk about women he would talk about women. "I don't quite understand why you assume it is a woman plaguing my thoughts. I have no problems with women. Not only do I have my dashing good looks but most feel sympathy when they see my cane," he nodded at the object reminding himself to the rare elegant party he went to at Falcone's, "They swarm around me in hopes to care and help poor innocent me. Motherly instinct, I presume. It doesn't matter how you hook them though. It only takes a few crafted words and I have them back to my apartment. So while I greatly…appreciate your concern, it's highly unnecessary. It's like worrying that I can't pour myself a bowl of cereal."

Finally Margaret's patience and tolerance have started to bear fruit. Not much, she must admit, but now he's giving her something to work with. His words provide her with more of the missing pieces of the puzzle; they tell her how he sees the world and in this case hints at a few of his blind spots. They expand upon what she already knows about how views people, based on the way he treats them; how he normally views and treats women. They are objects to him.

But Margaret knows so many men like him that the realization doesn't phase her. No, the really interesting thing is that she knows that such men don't obsess over the women they view as objects any more than they'd obsess over a particularly comfortable couch. And that he doesn't seem to understand that distinction tells exactly what his problem is. The only question is, how does she explain it to him without him dismissing the idea without a second thought?

"Hmm," she says, making a sound of agreement, "Oh, I'm sure you could have any number of women. But this one's different, ain't she? She _stays_ with you: your mind keeps repeating for you the last time you saw her, especially all the little details that you liked. You want to see her again. You wonder what she's doing - what's she thinking about? Is she thinking about _you_? You wonder how she feels about you. And if she walked in the door right now the first thing you'd do is find some shiny surface so that you can make sure you look just right for her." Yes, it's all too easy for her to simply list off the symptoms of his problem. Why so many people have such a hard time recognizing this in themselves is beyond her.

She pauses for a moment - now that she understands his problem, Margaret is able to begin to get a sense of the person who caused it. What kind of a woman would prompt that feeling in a man like this? She speaks one of her conclusions out loud, "I think it'll probably take more than a few words with this one."

"No," he snapped immediately, his hand slamming against the small table. He realized how loud he said it when he heard movement through the shop and felt glances towards him. His irritated features relaxed just a bit. He didn't mean to yell. His volume automatically rises when people fail to think logically or disregard his intelligence in such a way. He coughed into his hand almost awkwardly to draw attention away from them before roughly sliding it through his hair. The amount of pressure he was putting on his hand looked like he was forcefully trying to remove the agitation from his brain. Once the glancing eyes seemed bored by the commotion he had created, he looked back at the owner with a glare.

"No," he repeated in a normal tone using both of his hands to explain almost like he thought the reason she was bothering him was because she didn't understand speech. "I don't wonder I know," he spoke slowly, "She's working. She's thinking about work, guilt, and me. She hates me, but it doesn't matter because she's predictable and like every other average person in Gotham. A solved riddle tossed into the back of the cabinet with the other junk mail. So again, no I do not wonder about her. I would not waste my time puzzling over her life."

Did he really come off as a man who could easily be controlled by a woman's subtle charms? He knew exactly how Nina reacted. She went home and figured out her life so she could be more productive in work. She would first hate him and eventually forget about him. She would become routine…and boring. Nina was boring.

And maybe she had appeared in his thoughts on occasion…or a bit more, she did just escape his riddle alive. He would have anyone who had escaped his riddle on his mind for sometime. She also was his messenger, and he wouldn't be able to go through with his plan if Batman didn't get his riddle. There were many logical and factual reasons he had been thinking about her. It definitely wasn't the insinuation this woman was making.

Even the strength of the anger in the man's reaction isn't enough to cause Margaret to flinch. She simply waits out that and his attempt to deny the whole thing. Actually, what he says tells her a lot of things, the least of it being that she's once again right on track and exactly why this man has such a deep desire to shove away the distraction instead of to confront it directly. This man is a real piece of work, isn't he?

In fact, she's silent and thoughtful for a few moments even after his rant ends, and she quietly comments, "Feelings ain't like the rest of a person. They don't line up all nice and neat. You can't boss them around or tell them what they should be. Some of them can be worked with a bit, if ya know how, but mostly they just are. So you can tell all that _stuff_ to yourself all you like, but it won't change a thing." However, there's a note of conclusion to her tone as she says this; she's not going to argue this point with him any more. She's sure that he's realized what she's getting at, and now that she's put that thought into his head what he does with it is up to him.

But he's also brought up another subject that she thinks probably needs to be aired. "But let's not talk about that any more," she adds to emphasize that this is, despite any appearances to the contrary, a change of subject, "Now I'm just curious: what is this woman like? Her character, I mean. If you can indulge me on that I'll probably let you be." Mostly because if he gives her that much, she'll then be able to say the rest of what he needs to hear. She now has a pretty good picture of exactly who this man is, but without at least having a rough idea of who the woman in the picture is, there's a limit to how helpful she can be.

He frowned when the woman preceded to insatiate her point about his feelings. A woman as low grade as herself could not begin to understand the process of his mind. If she were to ever step place in his complicated mind she would be swept away, yet here she sat, acting as if she knew himself better then he did. He didn't like Nina, and this woman was too thick headed to actually listen to him. He almost grabbed his cane to leave, but as soon as his agitated hand reached out for it she said the three magic words:

_Let you be._

All she wanted was a description and she would leave him alone. He smirked. Descriptions were simple for a person with his level of deductive skills. He could easily write an entire novel of a wooden floorboard with a quick glance.

Nina.

This time he purposely replayed every moment beginning at the museum when he saw her studying the Gettysburg Address picture and ending with her form casually stepping up the stairs as if she hadn't just been in a death trap. The images flashed like a movie where the director kept moving the frame of the camera to get the entire three-dimensional picture. The difficulty wasn't having enough information to portray Nina accurately; no, the problem was being able to depict Nina's complicated person in such a way a simple-minded coffee shop owner would understand.

"Have you ever played Chess?" he asked, knowing the answer would most likely be no. But if it was no then she didn't deserve to understand his description anyways. "There is a particular piece that reminds me of her, the bishop. It's not because she doesn't have the power of the almighty queen, but because she's unnecessarily overlooked. I myself overlooked her true potential at first glance, but once understanding her unique attributes and traits I realized the power." He, of course, was not talking about Nina's literal power to manipulate microorganism. In all honesty, he rarely ever thought of her power. He knew it was impressive, but it was such a small part of the things that truly captivated him about her. "Just like the bishop, it goes unnoticed and uses that low expectation to better situate itself to win. Winning could mean protecting or sacrificing another piece like a queen, but primarily, winning is always meant to protect the King. She is always thinking about the King, about how she can help the King in the long run. Stubbornness, yes very stubborn," he repeated almost gazing off into his many conversations, "the piece can't be easily taken because it stubbornly and smartly zig zags through the field behind a defense she has set up previously. A defense that is difficult to destroy, but you continuously attempt to chip away at it...partially because you want to get to the bishop but mostly because the defense is flawed and you need to prove to yourself that you can destroy it. Chip…that as far as you really can go though. It's impenetrable. You can't get to the bishop…even though it keeps popping out of its defense fast enough to disrupt your well thought out plans. You get so irritated you almost want to forget about the game entirely and rip the bishop off the field and toss it onto the floor, but you can't. You have respect for it because it is challenging you to think of a strategy you hadn't considered before." He paused for a moment feeling all of those emotions Nina had caused over the long period in a matter of moments before finally drifting off to the moment in her apartment. She stood at the door not surprise of his presence but relief. She… "And that small rare smile your witty remark caused made all the frustration worth it…." the words left his mouth on their own record as he even remembered the glow in her eyes.

He found himself smiling as he stared down at his pen.

...

Before frowning immediately as a small bit of realization started to occur. No. no….no.

Margaret pays very little attention to the man's reaction to her little lecture. She'd expected him to dismiss it, actually - she'd said it in the hopes that he'd remember it later. Much of what she says ends up like that when she's talking to some fool who doesn't want to listen. How many times has she said these sorts of things to people who didn't seem to be paying it any attention only to spot the small evidence here and there that they actually taken it to heart later? Of course, it much easier if they simply listen to her properly to begin with, but she's never figured out how to get anyone to do that who didn't want to.

When he starts describing the woman, Margaret grows very still and simply listens to it carefully. As it happens, she _has_ played chess before. Not for a very long time and never very well, but enough to understand the analogy a bit. Though understanding the analogy is secondary to picking out what it _means_. That he used chess at all is revealing: an adversarial game. That, and his earlier insistence that the woman hated him, gives her at least a vague idea of how things have been going between the two of them. But she holds back all her comments until he's finished.

In fact, she doesn't speak until the frown appears. "Is it that surprising to ya that you're human?" she asks the frown. Pausing for only a moment to let that question sink in, she continues, "And I wonder: what does the bishop do when ya stop trying to attack it? Ever tried that?" Shrugging, she shakes her head and adds, "Probably a lousy way to play chess, but I'll bet it'll work on _her_."

Having given that advice, she sits up straighter and says, "Now, I said I'd leave you be, so unless you've got anything else to say to me, I'll leave you to your coffee." She turns slightly in preparation of standing up, only hesitating long enough to see if he'll try to stop her.

On the outside, Edward appeared completely frozen in a confused state. His eyebrows furrowed together to create that small line, an expression never seen on him. He didn't even appear to be seeing or observing any of the daily things going around him. His mind wasn't there anymore. His mind was mentally fitting together all the obvious puzzle pieces that had been glaring at him from the beginning. Instead of focusing on Nina, he focused on his own actions during all the interactions that seemed to shout out, 'You fool!' He knew he had acted differently towards her, but he had found some reason to blame. He found anything to blame for all of his actions…of course, none of these lead to the truth.

The truth, something he valued above all else, and he couldn't come to terms with it. Did he...?

No, the old woman couldn't be right. _Nina was just another person_, he protested trying to keep the crumpling walls of denial up.

_But she wasn't. You just proved that, Nigma._

Two very conflicting ideas tried to muscle their dominance, but neither pleased the Riddler. There was something physically upsetting with either idea being true, but truth was never a matter of opinion. Truth was not subjective or bias. Truth was fact, and he had to come to terms with his own fact.

He had feelings for Nina. He liked her more then just the overall physical appearance or womanly features. He actually liked the substance of her personality…something he never considered anyone, especially a woman, ever having. While the fact was confronted and confirmed, he only felt a slight shift of weight fall off his shoulders. He now understood why his focus and plan had gone to the wayside, but he was at a lost on how to fix it. He can't be like this. He can't be a virgin senior boy taking his crush to the prom on Saturday night. He had more important things to focus on then a woman…even if she was a more interesting woman. He doesn't have time for it, yet unfortunately it was not a problem he could solve with a simple brushstroke. He was stuck…stuck in that frozen position of thought that was only interrupted by the woman across from him.

Human?

No, he could not be grouped in with such a disgraceful species. He offered much more then human, yet she was right. He was acting like a pathetic human trapped in some romance novel. Why? He could block the emotions. Emotions only caused issues in life because it overlooked the logical aspects.

Her next comment pulled him away from the direction of thought just in time, saving him from reconstructing his wall of deniability. He blinked quickly coming out of the mental trance he had been in. "Stop trying to attack it," he repeated. He didn't quite understand why the concept seemed so straightforward but so unusual. Not attack? He hadn't planned on attacking her, but he definitely couldn't imagine a scene where they weren't at each other's throats with words…especially since she despised him.

Why was this so difficult? He was the Riddler. Puzzles like this should be solved with a blink of an eye. It definitely should not be more challenging then his riddle now.

He paused. At that moment, his consideration for the owner was little to none. His mouth opened as a larger realization hit. She would be here…during his riddle…in Wayne Enterprise like she always was. The first places the common citizen would blame for their misfortunes would be the large industries like Wayne Enterprise's. He imagined a flock of people breaking windows and barging in. He imagined Nina in her lab focused on her work but oblivious to life. He imagined fire and too many people.

It would be his fault when she died from the mob. It would be all his fault. No, calm down. He once again wasn't giving Nina enough credit. She would be intelligent and find away to escape either by using her power or just knowing the right places to put her at a safer advantage. She would have no problem, and while a large part of him believed that, he still felt that strange emotion again…

Guilt.

He couldn't allow such trivial human emotions to stop a brilliant plan to challenge the people of Gotham. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He was presenting a challenge, and if people couldn't handle it they might die. Nina could handle it.

Edward, wrapped up in his thoughts of the future, barely recollected the woman dismissing herself. His head jerked up to face her. His face paler, looked worst off. True, he was no longer irritated by the random thoughts of Nina, but now he faced a new type of feeling he hated….worry. He did not worry. He did not care. He was not that type of man. He forced a smirk just to hold up his image. He would not let this older woman realize the distress he was in now. He would not let this woman realize he knew she was right. "I would say I enjoyed the conversation, but I don't particularly like giving value to wasted time," he nodded to her as he waved in the direction for her to leave.

He had more important thing to deliberate on now then a conversation with her...like the two new emotions: guilt and worry.

The degree to which the man reacts to his realization would be enough to amuse Margaret (which is a very difficult reaction to get out of her given how simply tired with life she is), but that's an emotion that she knows better than to express right now. The last thing the man needs right now is to have someone laugh at him. Instead it simply prompts a passing thought about the big things falling hard, or however that one goes.

Because in a way, that's exactly what's happened here; she took one of his obviously flawed notions and pointed out the cracks in it until he had to admit that it had to go and tore it down himself. The next step will be building something better in its place, but that's up to him. And, knowing this, the pale look in his expression doesn't worry her; he just needs some time to sort things out, and when he does he'll be alright again. Unless, of course, he completely botches the job of rebuilding, in which case she'll be around to notice and encourage him to try again just as long as he continues to be a customer.

The words of his dismissal matter very little to Margaret thanks to her long time habit of listening for meaning rather than listening to the exact choice of words. If he has nothing further to say to her then the best thing for him is probably to leave him to his thoughts, and she does so without another word. He'll let her know if he needs anything else from her - whether he means to or not. In the meantime, she has a cafe to run and customers who have grown a bit displeased by how her conversation has interrupted service, and they need to be appeased. Then again, a few of them have encountered this other side of the cafe owner and are more understanding.


	8. Letters

An envelope addressed to Nina sits in her mail box from LexCorp.

Dr. Nina Stenet:

We are happy to inform you that we have accepted your application for the position as our Director of Operations for our Microbiology Department. You showed valuable skills sets that will be greatly useful for our corporations, and we would be honored to have you.

The position requires both managing and organizing the department's research to help LexCorp's mission goals. We will further discuss these matters in person when you come out to Metropolis. Because of LexCorp's high standards of operations we would like you to begin immediately. Enclosed in this letter are your first month's payment and the ticket for your flight. We are happy to include you in our LexCorp family.

Sincerely,

LexCorp

Director of Human Resources

Janice Middleton

Plane Ticket is for two days from now, and the check is twice the amount Nina normally makes.

When Nina opens the envelope both the letter and the rest of the contents are so perplexing that she finds herself reading it twice and checking everything else for some further explanation. Finding none, she mutters to herself as she stuffs everything back into the envelope and shreds the entire thing.

She's never worked for the money, never cared for a prestigious position, and has furthermore always demanded to be able to set her own goals and work alone. And Wayne Enterprises has given her exactly what she needs and wants, so she isn't even remotely tempted by the offer. And if they send out letters, checks, and tickets to people for jobs they didn't apply for and do not want, she feels no remorse in simply disposing of it without giving it a second thought.

After the incident at the coffee shop, Edward went on a walk something he hadn't done since before the accident. He needed to sort through his thoughts and the new puzzle that had been created. Normally, the process was easily accomplished at the coffee shop or in his study, but this was something different…something he hadn't experience before. In all honesty, what he really wanted to do was run. He wanted to feel the pavement under his feet and the city air pressed up against his cheek as he sped through the streets. He wanted to feel the numbness and calm that came with such an activity. Of course…

He couldn't have that.

And normally walking like this would taunt him of that fact, but his mind was too wrapped around Nina to even consider his cane that now pressed into his palm every time he took a step forward. If he went through with his riddle he would ruin Nina's life. Not only would it become dangerous for her to live in Gotham, but also Wayne Enterprise would be one of the industries seriously hurt. She would probably lose her job that she loved so much. He knew backing out of the riddle wasn't an option. He was proving a point to society, and he was getting rid of more inadequate people who didn't deserve to ruin his life. The riddle would happen, which created this current puzzle.

How does he handle this situation with Nina? He knew the best option would be to ignore the feelings, but he couldn't when knowing she wandered around this very city he lived in. Then it clicked. If he could get her out of the city, not only could he better ignore the feelings he had for her, he could also protect her from the possible dangers. He just needed her to leave, and what better way to get a workaholic to leave then offering a better employment opportunity. He smirked and pulled out his phone immediately contacting Lex. The conversation that followed was irritation on Lex's side, but Edward smartly reminded him of the amount black mail he had on the man. A job opened up.

Edward felt content with his solution and felt ready to move on with his life until Lex told him he hadn't heard from her, and therefore was forced to assume she rejected the offer. Rejected it. Ridiculous!

Luckily, Edward had come up with another plan.

Dr. Nina Stenet:

The American Medical Association would love for you to participate in our conference as a keynote speaker in Washington, DC. Your skills and research has greatly helped the medical community, and we would love for you to share your conclusions. Please contact us immediately to discuss this wonderful honor. The AMA conference is taking place the following week so we would love to get started as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

American Medical Association

Conference Director

Jackson Terri

Unlike the first letter that Nina received, this one actually strikes her as somewhat normal. Though she never does anything besides do her job very, very well to merit any attention to her work, that's often sufficient cause to get this organization or that's notice and they always seem to want something from her.

She only actually reads the first line of the letter: "Yes, you and everyone else," she mutters as she skims the rest. No specific mention of what's caught their attention this time, so she simply crumples up the letter and tosses it. She used to respond to these things, but that's just a waste of time: they always seem to use it as an excuse to write back asking what other time would be better. _No_ time would be better: she leaves explaining her work to people who aren't busy coming up with other breakthroughs.

To say Edward was frustrated was an understatement. He had tackled the issue from two different angles, and she rejected both. Nonsense! Utter nonsense. He so irritated that he did something without completely thinking it through, something that seemed to happen all the time when he was dealing with Nina. He sat down and wrote a quick note in his scribbling mess of handwriting.

Not leaving Gotham is a horrible idea.

Interests and work can be pursued no matter the location.

Gather your research and use opportunities to benefit both yourself and humanity.

My personal opinion is irrelevant, but hopefully you will make the intellectual choice.

After you sacrifice your stubborn attitude, of course.

He stuffed it in an unmarked envelope and handed it to Robby to deliver to her mail box. If she rejected this, he wouldn't worry or care about the horrible consequences that would happen to her. She had all opportunity to leave, and if she stupidly stayed she deserved what ever came to her. He would worry no more.

It had completely escaped Nina's awareness that there could be anything more than moderately unusual about the other two letters she received, but as she reads this scribbled note, all the pieces fall into place:

It was the Riddler who was behind these letters.

He wanted her to leave Gotham.

If he'd decided not to care about her anymore, he wouldn't care if she was in Gotham or not.

That he does would suggest that he's realized his feelings for her.

Perhaps he's worried about what may happen to her during his impending plan?

In some total, these realizations cause a bizarre mixture of emotions: she wasn't sure if she was more offended, afraid, relieved, disappointed, or frustrated. What was easier than figuring out her emotional state, however, was figuring out what to do about it: "It's about time you knew what it's like to have someone you care about in Gotham," she says to the letter as if talking to him directly. Rather than encouraging her to leave, this note actually encourages her to stay.


	9. Dark Hero

a/n: ^.^ thanks for reviews you guys. Here's more. I did not write anything in this chapter. It is written by other players. NOTE: this thread was suppose to happen before the letters...but...it really doesn't make that large a differences. I might fix it...or I might not. I can't exactly decide when this time actually happened, but i believe it was before the letters.

The Ventriloquist finally deposited into his rightful home inside the solid, hallowed halls of Arkham Asylum, Batman had finally had a day to mull over all the events that had unraveled these last few days. It was practically a whirlwind... Isley, the Ventriloquist, the Scarecrow, Catwoman, and to top it all off, the Riddler was clearly planning something. There was so many strange little pieces all clashing, as though someone had tossed a bunch of different things into a blender and he had to sort through the mess and figure out what in the hell got tossed in, who threw it in, and why the end result smelled strangely of cheese. For now, though, there was one thing that was clear...

He had made his way to Wayne Tech clad in his Batman suit. Hiding the Batcycle in some nearby shrubbery, he used the grappling hook to get himself up onto the roof. He flipped up a screen from his left gauntlet and tapped a keyboard set underneath it; looking at the work layout downloaded from Wayne Enterprises' database, he glanced around for where her lab would be. On the outside, with a little window, even. Someone here liked Nina. Or, perhaps, Nina did some very good work, to deserve such a lab.

He latched the grappling hook on the edge of the roof just over the window and, turning upside down, slid down slowly. Stopping just at the window, he tapped at it gently. Tap tap tap tap.

Having thrown herself back into her work, Nina's life has gone back to normal. At least, it's now at what normal will be from here on out. It includes all sorts of thoughts, some unpleasant and some not, that crop up every time she lets her thoughts wander. And the occasional worry that the Riddler will show up in her life again.

And while both she and the Riddler were certain that Batman would track her down, that was only a minor worry to Nina. She can only guess at what the caped crusader thinks about the evidence he'd come across in the process of finding her. But in the end, it's nothing she can't account for and she's completely certain that what wrong she may have done is minor if viewed as a part of the larger picture.

She's at her computer, typing up some of her most recent lab notes, when a tapping at the window gets her attention. She startles and glances at it, making a few last clicks with her mouse before she walks over and opens it. Who she sees on the other side causes her eyes to go wide in alarm for a brief moment, but then she takes a deep breath as if bracing herself and comments, "I was wondering when you'd find me."

Given the fact that a man with a fancy for dressing up like a bat and beating the hell out of psych patients is currently dangling upside down at her window, Nina was surprisingly calm. Then again, Nina was not your everyday, ordinary Gothamite. "Interesting crowd you spend your nights with," the Batman greets gruffly as he looks into her laboratory. "Can I come in?" he asks, even though it's quite clear that it's far more of a demand than a question.

Nina... nighttime pal of the Riddler. She was supposedly nothing more than just your ordinary, everyday researcher, working to give him more than enough profits through his company to allow him to gallivant through Gotham at night to prevent evildoers from annihilating it. The Riddler, it seemed had taken in interest in her, though. And why that was was, perhaps, the most important question of the night.

The thing about having the ability to incapacitate any ordinary human being within a few seconds is that you're not usually afraid of anyone, even if it's not your habit to use that ability unless you absolutely have to. Then again, on an emotional level she's still a bit afraid of Batman - she knows that he has a lot of questions, many of them touching on what was probably the most painful experience in her life, and she's certainly going to answer them. In fact she sees it as her responsibility to give an accounting of her actions to someone, and would feel far worse if she could do everything she did without being questioned.

His first comment prompts a sad frown, but his question is quickly answered with, "Yes, of course." Even if he'd asked in a more polite tone, she'd have answered the same way. The window is small, but big enough for a person to fit through - probably a part of the fire code - so she simply moves so that she can stand out of the way. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, though he also gave me a message to give to you; a riddle, of course. Would you like to hear it now, or after your questions?" she continues, not only her tone but her body projecting a certain hesitant ease: she's not very worried about Batman, but there's a certain small tension in her even so.

Most people are afraid of the Batman. He, after all, embodies that which most people fear most: the darkness, the unknown, that gray area that lingers on the edge of what is right and wrong. That true, real justice that only Batman can bring about. It would be no surprise, then, that Nina would be afraid of him. Not because of him, but because it means she must revisit something difficult.

The Batman doesn't need much room to come squeezing in the window. He simply pushes back away from the wall and comes sliding into the lab and catching himself in that famous Batman kneeling pose. He pushes himself back up and looks right back to her. "Now," was all that the Batman says as he wanders around slowly, looking in faux-curiosity. He knew full well what sort of research Miss Nina was doing. But he should at least look curious.

Pausing only for a moment to recall the carefully remembered words, Nina recites: "Riddles and jokes are no fun unless they're _shares_ with everyone." After she says that she stops and considers for a moment, nodding to herself when she's sure that she's delivered the message correctly. Everyone knows, especially Nina, that the Riddler does not mess around and she's not going to be the one responsible for one of his schemes succeeding just because she got this part wrong. In fact, she adds, "He said that you'd understand, and that the exact words were important." And if that comment provided any sort of a clue then she'd be remiss in not saying so as well.

And now that she's successfully performed that requested favor, she looks back at Batman and adds, "I hope that, whatever it means, that you figure out how to stop him. I'm sure it's for something much worse than tormenting me." She pays no heed to him wandering around the lab. Nothing questionable has ever happened here. Not unless you have something against the quick progression of medical science in general, anyway. Perhaps the only detail out of place is that the microscope looks hardly worn at all, and she's a microbiologist. Then again, perhaps it's simply new. Nina leans against one of the counters and watches him, waiting to hear what he'll say next.

Perhaps the most important thing of all was that the Batman doesn't respond at all. Instead, he simply stands there and thinks. For a good 15 seconds, even. Which is incredibly long for Batman. "I do," the Batman finally says in response, his eyes glancing over to that microscope for a long moment. They don't call him the world's greatest detective for nothing, after all. But this isn't the time for that.

"Did he say anything else?" Batman asks as he turns back to stare at Nina for a moment. "And more importantly, why do you think he is continuing to contact you?"

Batman's reply gets a nod, and there's even a small hint of relief in Nina's eyes. While she may hold feelings for the Riddler that she's not fully comfortable with, she's also not eager to see him hurt anyone else. But perhaps she simply ought to get used to her heart being at odds with her compassion.

The questions that Batman asks are complicated, and Nina hesitates before she answers. Not because she's at all reluctant to give those answers, but because she's not completely sure how to explain them properly. "He said a lot of things - we had a few very long conversations. But nothing, I think, that would be very helpful to you; I'm sorry. Nothing about what he's planning or where he might be. Most of it was about our differing views on life," she answers the first question.

But that's the easy one, and with the second she has to pause even longer before she says, "I assume you know that I was a witness when he robbed the museum? There was one thing I left out of the report: he talked to me. I think it was because I wasn't afraid enough of him. And he must have become curious about me - that's why he kidnapped me and took me to that hospital." She pauses, sadness coming over her face for a brief moment before she continues, "I don't know if he'll contact me again, but he might. I don't know if he knows it, but he has feelings for me." And that's why Nina has a reputation for being perfectly honest.

Those are the best questions, are they not? Those that are short, but so full of answers that it causes recipient of the question to stop and pause. "Things may be much more important than they seem, so the more detail, the better," Batman says before rubbing a gauntlet-covered finger along her microscope.

At her second response, Batman listens silently, taking in any information that he can. "Feelings?" the Batman responds almost instinctively, blinking once behind his cowl. That, perhaps, was most surprising of all the things he had heard today. And yet... it would make some sense. "Why weren't you afraid enough of him?"

That first statement from Batman causes an actual small scowl to cross Nina's face. "Details?" she asks in frustration, "I can give you details. I could go on all night until we're both drowning in details. And I know how important the details are when you're dealing with the Riddler - I learned that lesson very well. It's so hard to know what may be important. I'm not a detective." She gives an exasperated sigh at the end of that little rant, forcing herself to a calmer state by closing her eyes. As much as she'd actually like to give Batman all the help that she can, she has the suspicion that she knows everything but what he really needs to know.

Once she's calm she focuses her attention on that last question, and she's obviously choosing her words carefully when she says, "I have an ability. A very, very powerful one. The 'riddle' he gave me in the hospital was, in part, so that he could find out what it is." And the other part is the reason why Nina gets such a pained expression on her face every time she thinks about that room.

That strange little scowl actually reveals a good bit more about her interactions with the Riddler than she might have ever imagined. As for her next statement, however, Batman simply stares back at her for a moment before leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "Anything else you'd care to tell me?" Batman asks gruffly as he plays with the points on one of his gauntlets with his fingers.

What was going through the Batman's mind is anyone's guess. Nina may be able to take a stab at it, but it was pretty clear to see by now that he had gathered as much information as he needed. For the moment, anyway.

Taking a deep breath to help ease away the lingering frustration and pain of her last few statements, Nina waits patiently for whatever Batman has to say next. And that question causes her to pause thoughtfully. "Two things: First, if you ever have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask me and I won't hesitate to answer them. Second, I do not want you or anyone else to try to protect me. Where my own ability to protect myself does not succeed, anyone else is also likely to fail. And I don't want anyone getting themselves hurt or killed because of me," she says simply. And during that last part especially she looks directly at Batman with what is clearly a look of fear in her eyes - a very rare look for Nina indeed. But at the same time she is confident: this is a very, very brave woman who knows that she is powerful even though she's also well aware that she's not infallible.

Batman glances back over to her before almost smirking behind his cowl. "You, just like everybody else in this city, has my protection whether you like it or not. Get used to it," The Batman responds before walking back over to the window and grabbing hold of the grappling hook dangling just outside. "Don't worry, Doctor. You'll see me again soon."

And with that, he zipped back up to the roof, thoughts amany. Nonetheless, it gave him an excellent idea of what the Riddler was up to...

Batman's reply gets a small frown, but Nina does nothing except shut the window behind him. Oh, it's not the last part that displeases her - just like her encounters with the Riddler, she has very little choice in whether or not she runs into Batman again and so she just accepts it without complaint. No, it's that if he thinks that he can enforce more protection of her than she wants, she has nearly as much ability to prevent that as she does to defend herself in the first place - a lot more than he probably imagines.

But she doesn't worry about that for too long and instead walks right back over to her computer and picks up where she left off. These interruptions to her research are piling up, and she doesn't like that at all.


	10. Business and Puppets

a/n: Again, did not write anything in this chapter. V is played by another player.

Only a few days after being admitted to Arkham Asylum, Arnold Wesker had been payed a visit by woman who referred to herself as "Mercy." Mercy claimed to be a 'friend,' a friend who would be able to help Arnold decrease the amount of time he spent at the Asylum exponentially. But just after having been defeated in humiliating fashion by the botanist, Pamela Isley, the Ventriloquist was in no hurry to enter society anytime soon.

Then of course there was the need to seek the approval of Mister Scarface, and just of sheer luck, Mercy had brought along the criminal mastermind to help Arnold make up his decision.

_**It's time to listen' to da nice lady Arnold...**_

Surprisingly enough, his company was sparse at the Asylum, and he did not want the reputation of being the only Gotham City rogue who was locked up in the koo-koo house. Here was the catch, Mercy represented some very powerful people, and these powerful people had a score to settle with a Mister Edward Nigma. So in order for Arnold to be granted 'an early leave' from the Supreme Court of Friendly Mental Health Rehabilitation, he would have to get his hands dirty.

_**How much 'could it hwurt?**_

Miss Mercy had given Arnold Wesker and Scarface a black and white photograph of a up and coming researcher in the field of Microbiology who worked for the billion dollar playboy Bruce Wayne at his shadow-casting tower in the center of Gotham City.

_**Oh! Wat a co-ink-key-dink dummy! Dat's the same dame from da bank!**_

So here we are standing in front of the entrance door to Miss Nina Stenent's apartment. Arnold looked at the lovely picture of the busy doctor one more time, and cracked a sadistic smile.

"This is going to be fun Mister Scarface. Yes. Yes. Fun."

**"Glad to see dat yer as enthusiastic a'gout this one as much as Ah' am. Did ye g'ring da can opener?"**

Arnold folded the picture away into the jacket pocket of a dirty grey tweed blazer. The Ventriloquist adjusted his red with yellow poke a dot bow tie, before opening up the gym bag to take out the rusted monkey wrench.

"Of course. Of course Mister Scarface. Wouldn't dare leave home without it."

The Ventriloquist twisted Scarface so it looked like the mannequin was inspecting the killing tool.

**"Awright. Seems ade-qua-te for da job...'wring da door'gell. It's gettin' stuffy out here."**

Arnold reached forward and knocked on the door to Nina's apartment, then quickly he ducked back into the hallway so that if she answered the door she would not be able to see him right away.

While he waited to see what happened next, the Ventriloquist sung himself an inspirational nursery rhyme to prepare him for what was about to happen next.

"Little Polly Flinders

Sat among the cinders,

Warming her pretty little toes.

Mother came and caught her,

And whipped her little daughter

For spoiling her nice new clothes!"

Not all that long ago, one would not be able to describe Nina as a suspicious person. However, certain recent events have changed that. Though Nina has chosen to ignore the Riddler's warnings and the last note provided some hint that he wasn't going to force the issue, she doesn't trust him even slightly. It's all too easy to say one thing and mean another, especially when it's obviously worded cleverly to begin with, so Nina isn't at all convinced that he won't try again.

So naturally, Nina has taken to checking the peephole in her door before opening it. And when she doesn't see anyone on the other side she is instantly suspicious that something is up. If she knew who was actually behind this, she would be far less nervous as she quickly comes up with a plan to turn this situation as much to her advantage as possible.

First she reaches for the switch next to the door and turns off the lights, plunging the apartment into darkness, only to open the door partway to allow the light outside of her apartment spilling through the doorway to be the only available illumination. "Hello?" she calls out into the opening as if answering the door normally and wondering why there was nobody on the other side. But instead of standing there confused, she uses the dim lighting and her memory of the way she has her furniture arranged to quickly back away from the door.

One of the main weaknesses of Nina's gift in the face of anything happening too quickly is that it takes her a few precious seconds to use it, so the best strategy when facing an uncertain danger is to put herself into a situation where she has the most possible time to react. Giving herself the best possible chance to see before she's seen by putting herself in darkness and making whoever it is stand in the light is one way, and adding some physical distance is another. She only stays close enough to be sure that if it turns out to be someone harmless, she'll be able to hear them talking from the doorway. Better to have to explain odd behavior than to be caught unprepared.

The Ventriloquist inched his way to the door. A large Alfred Hitchcock like silhouette of a figure wearing a Al Capone style Fedora and standing next to a short figure with bushy hair protruding from the sides like a circus clown cast itself over the dimly lite apartment.

_**"What-cha waiting for? An Inve-Ta-tion?"**_

Scarface was talking through his mind.

"It...it...its dark in there," the Ventriloquist whispered.

Scarface rolled It's eyes. Then head knocked the Ventriloquist.

**"Go on, get!"**

With new found inspiration, he resumed forward movement.

"Hello?" A female voice asked from inside.

"Awe. Doesn't she have a nice sounding voice Mister Scarface?" The Ventriloquist stifled a gleeful smile. He was thinking back to their first encounter with Nina, back when he was robbing the 3rd National Bank of Gotham.

He imagined a helpless citizen refusing to part ways with a briefcase containing who knows what types of goodies and treasurers. He made a mental note, then when they were finished having fun with her, they would wreck the apartment until they were able to find that item and end the mystery of what was inside once and for all!

The Ventriloquist used the hand holding Scarface to open the front door. There was a loud "Creaking" sound, signifying that the hings to the doors could use oiling or be replaced. Scanning around the darkened room, there was no sign of Doctor Nina Stenet. The Ventriloquist let out a small frown.

"Mademoiselle

Went down to the well,

Combed her hair,

And brushed it well,

Then picked up her basket and

Vanished!"

"Booohooo. Where did she go Mister Scarface?"

**"Find da dang lights, stupid dummy."**

"Yes Sir Mister Scarface. Right away."

There was some commotion as Arnold pressed his hands against the wall, trying to find the light switch to the apartment. Still holding the monkey wrench in hand, the weapon clattered was even louder then normal, in the process knocking things from their original positions towards the front side of the apartment such as pictures, items on bookshelves, coats from their hangers, etc

**"We'll ge' right with ye Dr. Stenet, as soon as we solve' dese tech-ni-chal diff-cuwlties. Hehehe."**

The amount of time it takes for whoever it is to reach the door almost makes Nina wonder if the knock on the door hadn't been a prank by some of the kids living in the apartment complex, but the shadow that reaches the doorway proves to be an adult. One of them, anyway - and the other stirs up a memory that's been half-forgotten. And when she hears the voices, the memory becomes clear: the man from the bank! What's _he_ doing here? That he would turn up now is odd, but she doesn't allow herself to wonder about that for too long - she'd been so focused on the figure that she wasn't able to identify the other object held in his hand, though the clattering indicates that it's metal and whatever shape that metal takes it's probably meant to do her harm.

Having had the chance to reach the far wall, Nina uses the silhouette offered to locate the man with her power. Specifically, she reaches out to a part of his neck: the spinal chord at the point where the spinal column reaches the base of the skull. All the nerves that reach into the body pass through that one point, and now that she has her target located, Nina crouches behind her dining table so that she'll be that much more difficult to spot when the lights come on. With a good portion of the work that will be required to disable him already done, she waits.

She'd rather not have to take him down in the doorway for two reasons: the first being that it will make things difficult for her when she wants to close the door in a moment, and the second being that it would be even less kind to him that she'd really like to be. Sure he may obviously be here to threaten her, but she's about to temporarily disable all the voluntary nerves in his entire body from the neck down - which will make him collapse in a heap without even being able to catch himself with his arms. It would be better for him if she can ensure that he lands on carpet at least by allowing him fully into the room.

She's done this particular move a thousand times on lab rats for practice as it's her primary alternative to killing someone, and she knows that once she's found the right spot she can do the rest in a split second in a rat. A person is considerably bigger, however, so she's guessing it will take her a full second just to rapidly work her way through the large mass of nerves. Which means that if he's holding a gun then she won't wait - if he spots her quickly enough, it would take only marginally longer for him to raise and point the gun than it would for her to be able to stop him. But when she sees the pipe wrench instead, she'll certainly let him come closer; it would take him much more than a second to cross the room.

**"Did ye find the light switch' yet?"** Scarface asked in an annoyed town.

"Almost Mister Scarface," the Ventriloquist responded, resting his tongue on the upper lip. "Ah! Voila!"

**"Let dere be light!"**

The Ventriloquist switched the lights on in the apartment. There as a temporary moment of blindness as his eyes became adjusted to the sudden alteration from darkness to being able to see again.

He scanned the room until he found the kind doctor crouching behind the dinner table. The Ventriloquist then thought back to their first encounter again. When he had pulled the gun on her, he remembered that his hand had become disables while he was around her. In fact, he was not able to use his hand for over an hour.

Why would LexCorp show an interest in this woman? Was it specifically for her expertise in microbiology, or was there more to this woman then first expected. His mind then quickly flashed back to Pamela Isley. On the surface, the woman appeared to be a unarmed and gorgeous femme fatale, who played the part of the ideal damsel in distress. Of course she turned out to be something completely different, and helpless by no stretches of the imagination.

The thought of Pamela Isley made the Ventriloquist's eyes widen in terror. Maybe this woman was the same way? Did she had some sort of meta-human power? Paranoia was beginning to sink in as he put his experiences with Pamela Isley and the sudden in ability to use his hand at the bank.

The Ventriloquist looked at the pipe in his hand in a dumbfounding manner.

**"Throw da pipe ye dummy!"**

Listening to the more dominant half of him, the Ventriloquist tossed the rusted monkey wrench toward her direction, hoping to either hit her with the heavy weapon or at least momentarily stun or distract her from the damage it would cause to her furniture.

The Ventriloquist then began to make his way over to the dinner table in a brisk and fast walk. He weaved near the couch and because he was not paying full attention to his surroundings, bumped his hip against the edge of a love seat, throwing him off balance for a second.

When he engaged with Nina at close range, he would be weaponless except for Scarface, a brawl with his first was not his ideal match up, but one that could prove to be entertaining.

Were the Ventriloquist watching Nina more carefully, he wouldn't be wondering so much about whether on not Nina has some sort of an ability. She's far too calm to be a helpless woman, especially when she sees that the man isn't holding a gun, and she's watching him a little too carefully with a very focused expression on her face. Barring any backup he may have, she knows that she's already won.

That he'd throw his weapon _does_ come as a bit of a surprise to her, however, and she's forced to abandon her plan of quickly disabling him once he's entered the room in favor of throwing herself to the side to dodge the flying piece of metal. However, that only distracts her for a few moments, not nearly long enough for him to get much further than the love seat, and she's very quick to pick up where she left off: now she doesn't hesitate at all and very precisely but very quickly works her mind through the nerve fibers.

If the reaction of the rats is any indication, the man won't feel a thing. Won't even lose sensation in his body - going after the sensory nerves in addition to the motor nerves would only slow her down; he'd only experience a very rapid loss of the ability to control any part of himself below the neck. And it's something that Nina would rather not do to anyone, but he _is_ trying to attack her.

And even as she disables him she realizes that it couldn't have been the Riddler who sent him: after all, she'd just received a series of letters that indicated that he wanted her to be safe. And even _if_ he wanted someone to actually attack her, he'd know that this wouldn't work even a little bit. There are ways to hurt Nina, kill her even, and while she's certain that the Riddler could figure how to do it she knows that he'd know that this isn't it. Perhaps now she'll be able to find out why he's here then.

There was a loud clatter as the pipe ricochets off the dinner table before hitting the ground.

The effects of Nina's powers began to take into affect just after he bumped his hip against the side of the two-cushioned couch. Her 'gift' seemed to work from the neck down so the first part of his body that he lost the ability to use was his arms and upper body.

The Ventriloquist dropped Scarface to the ground, and his arms suddenly went limp, dropping to his sides. The image resembled someone who's arms were attached to the side of their body or someone who did not move their arms when they walked.

He took a few more steps before he lost the ability to use his lower body. The Ventriloquist dropped to both knees. He then looked around from left to right in utter shock, not being to explain what was happening to him. Turning his neck left and right, his response was something he would do if he was sinking in quick sand.

The villain finally slumped to the ground face first, onto a soft oriental carpet. He had actually managed to get only within two feet away from where Nina had dived to dodge the pipe, and there was nothing between himself and Nina.

It was very odd because he could still feel the dinner table, because his leg was touching one of the legs of the table. He could still feel the cold rug underneath him and the feeling of the floor.

**"Now's not da time to be sleepin' on da job Dummy!. Get up and go get her!"** Scarface screamed.

"I can't Mister Scarface! I can't!"

**"Whatcha talkin' about? Wat did ye do to us ye stupid dame!"**

The moment that she's finished tampering with the nerves, Nina breathes a sigh of both relief and frustration. How near he'd managed to get to her is of no real concern, only that he'd never gotten near enough. As powerful and as confident as being able to do this makes her, this isn't what she feels like her gift is meant for.

Picking herself up off of the ground she answers, "The same thing I did in the bank." He's not going to get any more information from her than he already has. Quite the contrary - she intends to get information from _him_. Retrieving the pipe from where it landed, she adds, "You are now completely helpless and will remain so as long as I want you to be. And since you can probably guess what I want to know and I don't want to waste time asking you questions, perhaps you should simply tell me everything and save us both a whole lot of time."

As she says this she leans casually against the wall, idly handling the very weapon he'd brought to attack her with with an eerily calm expression on her face. An implied threat that she has absolutely no intention of carrying out, but he doesn't have to know that - instead she hopes that he's noticed that she's left all his ability to feel intact.

When the Ventriloquist was forced to drop Scarface onto the ground, the mannequin landed on It's back so that it was facing the ceiling inside of the middle class apartment. The Fedora was still attached to Its head.

Scarface was smart enough to know what she wanted, but extremely hesitant to give up the information to her. Call it professional accountability. If Mercy discovered that they had squealed without putting up any sort of fight, sending a few goons to break the legs of the Ventriloquist and to tear the head off of Scarface would be going easy on them.

**"Not g'ad toots. Dat's a dirty way to win 'a figh' don't ye think? Ah' mean ye left the dummy rendered helpless without givin' 'im a fair chance to defend 'imself." **

Meaning, Arnold Wesker was feeling uneasy about this entire situation, but would not say anything at the present moment until Nina made her move. Like Scarface, he understood that he had to put up some type of resistance to the woman's inquiries. He would let Scarface do the talking for now. The Ventriloquist merely looked to the side, and closed his eyes. He attempted to move his arms and legs, but to no avail.

**"Ah'll tell ye wat kid. Why don't ye release the dummy, drop and take 'im on mono-a-mono. If ye g'eat 'im, Ah'll tell ye wat all dat ye want to know. What-du-ye-say?" **

The Ventriloquist opened his eyes at this request. Analytically, he began to think about this through his mind. It would have been like fighting Isley, Stenet was younger, faster then him. But the Ventriloquist held the experience. It was not a proposition the Ventriloquist was fond to follow through with, but he would be willing to test his physical combat prowess with an opponent who had a level head about her. Someone who was not intimidated based off his reputation.

**"Ah' know dat the dummy is a little app-re-hen-souve at this don't tell me dat ye would be a little scared too."**

That the man she's paralyzed is now trying to negotiate with her at all, let alone through a puppet, is ludicrous enough to make Nina forget at least momentarily that she also feels a bit sympathy for him. She laughs lightly for a moment, before clearing her throat and commenting, "You're here, at the very least, to hurt me. Do I care what you think about how I defend myself? No. Am I stupid enough to turn turn a situation so clearly in my favor to a 'fair fight'? Of course not."

Suddenly, she steps away from the wall, idly swinging the pipe as she moves. But rather than heading for the Ventriloquist, she walks right up to where Scarface was dropped. Still holding the pipe in her right hand, she picks him up by one of his feet with her left hand, allowing him to dangle there and holding him away from herself as if she's being forced to touch something unpleasant.

Eyeing Scarface for a moment she adds, "So what I 'say' is that I'm already getting tired of hearing you talk. Though maybe it would help if you were saying anything that I want to hear." As she says this, she brandishes the pipe a little to back up this new and this time very real threat.

Beating a defenseless man with a pipe is such an abhorrent idea to Nina that she feels somewhat guilty for even vaguely implying that she might, even though she's guessing that he was planning on doing far worse to her. Smashing his security puppet into little pieces, on the other hand, is definitely something that she has absolutely no qualms about. In fact, it would probably be quite therapeutic for her, though she does hope that this threat works because she doesn't like the direction she'd have to take this if it doesn't.

**"Hey. Hey. Hey. Watch' doin'? Da Dummy is over there! Aaaaaaaa!"**

Unable to move his body, the Ventriloquist turned his neck and followed Nina's path as she made her way to Scarface. He was not able to get the full extent of the image of Nina holding the mannequin by one foot. But what he did see was the Scareface's upper body swinging back and forth like a pendulum while being held in mid-air.

""So what I 'say' is that I'm already getting tired of hearing you talk. Though maybe it would help if you were saying anything that I want to hear."

"No! No! No! Puh-puh-please don't hurt him."

The Ventriloquist was t"rying to turn his neck as much as he could to get a better site of Nina threatening Scarface. The spectacles fell of the bridge of his nose and were now lopsided on his face.

**"Aaaa! Do somthing Dummy!" **Scarface screamed.

"I can't Mister Scarface! I can't!"

Scarface's expression remained unchanged. Wide eyes, always with a scowl. The fedora had fallen to the ground showing that the dummy had close cropped black hair underneath. The arms of the mannequin were at the mercy of gravity.

**"Au-wright. Au-wright. Au-wright." **Scarface began. **"Da dummy and Ah' were set free by dis lady with g'ig hooters and even larger thighs. We've seen her before, workin' at Lex Corps, security' depart-ment, dat's how we know who she was. She sen' us after' ye, for God knows what w'reason. Could' be personal, could' be professional. Dat's all we know, honest!"**

Nina waits patiently to see if her threat will work, and she listens carefully to the information she's being given. When he stops talking, Nina would appear frozen for a few moments as she tries to piece it all together, murmuring "LexCorp" to herself. And given the desperate position she's placed the man in, she's sure that she's getting the truth - she's just glad that he happened to have a built-in way she could threaten him that didn't violate her sense of right and wrong.

Naturally, her mind goes back to that first letter. And what does the Riddler have to do with this? She's still certain that the Riddler wouldn't have caused this attack - even if he meant only to frighten her he would have done better. No, it really must have been someone at LexCorp's idea, then. But why would anyone at LexCorp want her dead? Well, she'd completely disregarded that job offer for one thing. And she was sure that LexCorp saw every medical breakthrough she made for Wayne Enterprises as a step back for them. Of course, it was their own fault for not being willing to meet the demands of a certain brilliant young doctor fresh out of college some years ago. And while she wouldn't put it past them to send someone out for that reason, she still had a nagging feeling that the Riddler was involved in this somehow...

Forcing herself to replay the situation in her mind, Nina decides that she _is_ certain that he influenced the job offer, but not the attempt at her life. But what does that mean? "They want to kill me to upset the Riddler," she answers out loud, sighing in frustration to herself as she roughly tosses Scarface so that he'll land next to the Ventriloquist and then walks over to one of her couches, unconsciously sitting where the Riddler had once again.

This is bad, _very_ bad. It was already bad enough to find herself unexpectedly so closely tied to a murderer, but now she has another entity who knows that they are connected somehow and wants to get at him through her. Setting the pipe down on the coffee table, she rubs her head and forces herself to think - there has _got_ to be a way to get herself out of this mess! And for the moment, it appears that she's forgotten that there's a paralyzed man lying on her floor, though that's far from the case.

**"Ooooof!" **Scarface exclaimed as he landed next to the Ventriloquist after being tossed aside by their captor. The mannequin landed in an awkward position with knees bent the wrong way, and one arm pointing at the hip and the other looking like it was rubbing the top of the head.

**"Well dis is em'garrassing." **

The Ventriloquist uneasily watched the doctor make her way over to the couch. Not wanting the woman to here them, Scarface began to speak into the mind of Arnold Wesker.

_"Wh-what do we do now Mr. Scarface?"_

_**"Ah'm thinking. Ah'm thinking. Me'gee if we stay quiet, she'll let us go."**_

_She mentioned something about the Riddler._

**Nigma? Dagna'git. Wat did we get ourselves into? Dat's the last time Ah' ever listen to you!"**

_But Mister Scarface, you wanted to leave the Asylum too..._

_**Hey, hey' Ah'm think'in here." **_

The woman seemed honest enough. She did not seem to have an inklings about 'revenge' or getting back at them, nor did she seem violent, although something inside of the Ventriloquist felt that when push came to shove, she would be able to break out of her comfort zone and result to harsher courses of action. When in doubt. Just ask, and try and be nice.

**"If dis counts. We had no id-eas dat the Riddler was involved in dis scheme. If we knew, den we wouldn't have taken de job in de first place," **Scarface said to Nina. **"He's one man de dummy and I know not to mess with."**

The Ventriloquist looked up at Nina with an 'innocent' face.

The many potential problems caused by this situation flood through Nina's mind as she considers the situation. Even if she were the type to want revenge she'd have trouble considering that at the moment - how she feels about being attacked seems like such a small, petty concern when this incident is put in its fuller context. The last place that she wants to be is caught between the Riddler and LexCorp!

Her thoughts are easily interrupted when Scarface speaks up again and she frowns in his direction. A part of her pities him - he's probably in worse trouble than she is. At least _she_ can be reasonably certain that only one of those two want her dead, whereas he's probably going to be in trouble from both sides. On the other hand: "I suppose that my argument that you shouldn't have taken the job anyway would fall on deaf ears? Though if you're lucky, maybe he won't find out about this immediately."

Almost as if on cue, that's when she hears a knock on the door. Given what's just happened, she's probably safe in assuming that it could be anyone, so she scoops up the pipe as she stands and quickly heads over the door, peering though the peephole. Who she sees on the other side causes an actual scowl. "Or if you're _very_ unlucky he's had someone watching my apartment and is here right now," she says distantly.


	11. When In University

a/n: I would like to remind everyone again that this is a role play and for that reason transitions are choppy, so unfortunately you will be left on a cliffhanger for a chapter as I show you what the riddler was up to during the same period of time. Also again, I only write for the Riddler so I am not responsible for other people's characterization. Personally, I don't like the way this player portrays the scarecrow...but *shrug* I don't have control over how they write him.

* * *

><p>He wore a full professional black suit, something he wore very rarely and left his bowler cap at home. The only that could possibly hint to his true identity would be the bright green tie he wore and the cane that was glued to his hand. He opened the door to the large lecture hall as if he were the professor himself.<p>

Everyone in the large class turned immediately to the disruption including the professor who had a scowl implanted on his face.

"Excuse me sir, but we are in the middle of lecture," the man growled at him. Edward smirked for a moment. It constantly amazed him how important academic professor believed their lectures changed the world while in actuality they were a way for these worthless children to justify their drunken activity.

Edward slightly bowed his head. "I would apologize but the matter behind my intrusion is rather important," he stated towards the professor. He highly doubted the professor would see the importance, but to Edward, determining the Batman identity went above any other menial task.

Dr. Ulmann continued to glare at him for a few more moments before letting out a sigh. "What is it?" he asked tiredly.

"Nothing that will take the rest of your class time. I wouldn't want to stop the attempts of learning," Edward said truthfully, "All I need is to steal Natalie Martin."

The Professor lips turned into more of a frown. He seemed to be annoyed that only one student would be the cause of such a disruption. "Natalie, go," he ordered finding her in the room quickly and pointing to the door.

Edward smirked. People made it too easy for him. "I'll meet you in the hall, dear," he said not even apologizing to the professor as he left.

Again, Natalie had pulled nearly an all nighter all thanks to her research. Well. _Almost_ an all nighter. She did manage to catch a two hour nap between last night's work and this morning's first class. Even so, where most students would fall short due to their lack of repose, she didn't seem all that tired out aside from the obvious signs of sleep deprivation that could be seen if one got close enough. Slight dark circles under her eyes, though she mostly just covered them up with a very minor amount of eye liner. Her 'Brain and Behavior' class went off without a hitch, and it seemed that her 'Applied Behavior Analysis' class would be quite the same. None of her classes were a real challenge aside from the pharmacology chourse, which was at least relatively new in it's lessons.

It was sheer will power that stopped Miss Martin from falling asleep during this particularly boring class period. The subject itself was interesting to her, but the professor didn't catch her interest. He didn't seem nearly as devoted to his work as others did, which struck her as.. irritating, to say the least. Slumping over slightly in her desk, Natalie reached for the 20oz cup of coffee that she'd bought that morning that was still only halfway gone, and took a sip of what had devolved into merely a lukewarm cafe drink. Setting the cup down, her attention was drawn to the doors for a moment after hearing them open. Her gray eyes settled on an unfamiliar face, an older man dressed up rather nicely. Almost too nice to be a staff person at the university. Whoever he was, she doubted it involved her, and tuned out the irritated banter between him and Dr. Ulmann, instead focusing on erasing a bit of her notes that she felt she didn't write down neatly enough, and wrote them out legibly.

That is, until she heard her name spoken by the stranger. She peeked up again, and gave him a questionable look before she glanced back to the professor at the front of the hall, as if looking back at him would make it okay to leave class momentarily. Slowly, she closed her notebook up and as quietly as she could, gathered up the rest of her things. Backpack, purse, and coffee in hand, it wasn't a problem for such a skinny girl as her to sneak by the rest of the students in her row, and practically silently went out the doors. Maybe he did work for the university? Maybe it was some sort of emergency? Involving her family back home, and this was the only way they could contact her? What if her apartment was broken into, and this guy was just gathering her for the police department? It could've been any number of emergencies, hence why she didn't object outwardly.

Pushing the doors open, she looked over at the mysterious suited man, and adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. "**Yes?**" She asked, her voice hardly peeping up above a whisper, since it was probably the only thing she'd said all day aside from ordering her coffee.

Edward unwrapped his tootsie pop as he waited for young student. Supposedly this student was one of the rare people who actually had interactions with Jonathan Crane, and hopefully she would provide him more clues.

He had heard of a man dressed as a scarecrow infiltrating Selina's home. He had some sort of liquid drug that not only took down Selina but also the boy blunder. It caused them to live in their worst fears. Now, Edward had little interest in the results fear caused in people. He understood fear was a large factor in everyone's lives especially the unintelligent, but he also understood that bravery existed. The reason bravery existed was based on intelligence not fear. However, when he overheard the detailed story through the rumor circuits he became greatly interested in the drug itself. A plan started to harbor that would finally lead him to Batman's identity. But before he could figure out the Batman's identity he had to determine the Scarecrow's identity.

There were large clues that automatically popped out when he gathered the story from his many sources.

-Obsession with fear

-Called it an experiment

-Scrawny dangling man

-Intelligent

He knew immediately it had to be a doctor or a scientist or possibly both ruling off the majority of the Gotham population. All he had to do from there is look through the major medical, academic, and science journals in search of any progress in relation to fear. From there he would look for a person living within Gotham's city limits. All of this led him to one man Dr. Jonathan Crane who had published a few article all on the topic of fear. While he was close to certain the man was the very same person who dressed as a Scarecrow, he still wanted to double check his facts. Furthermore, the man was basically unavailable. He supposedly was either teaching or researching, making it impossible to get a hold of him.

He turned his head to the door when Crane's teacher assistant walked through. He did a quick once over of the young student. She appeared to not sleep much, which was only confirmed by the coffee in her hand. He couldn't determine if it was from a sleeping disorder or from work. He knew it wasn't from parties. She lacked the attitude that came from socializing with the broad masses.

He held his hand out to the girl as he pushed the lollipop into his cheek. "Good day Natalie, my name is Dr. Nashton," he spoke with a confident air to him, "I work for the American Psychology Association. I am actually here to discuss Dr. Crane because he is in competition for our national award. Normally, we wouldn't bother a lowly TA like yourself, but Crane's lack of associates has forced us to focus elsewhere. Because this is a highly competitive award, we really must look at Dr. Crane from a outsider's perspective."

Doctor Nashton. The name didn't immediately ring a bell, though it did hold some sort of familiarity to Natalie, that much she would admit to. Like she'd heard the name before in passing, but that was it. What was more peculiar about it though, was that she certainly didn't recognize the name having anything to do with the American Psychology Association. Natalie wouldn't claim to be an expert on those who were affiliated, but she did know a few names. Nashton wasn't one of them. Still, he seemed professional enough, and the fact that he was here for an award that Dr. Crane was supposed to be given made perfect sense. He was a genius, after all.

"**Nice to meet you, Dr. Nashton.**" Natalie said quietly, forcing another one of her pleasant smiles and shaking his hand after re-re-adjusting the shoulder strap of her backpack, and shifting some of the weight of her notebook and text book from the class she was pulled out of.

The comment of a 'lowly TA' did irk her just a bit, noted in the way she furrowed her brows at the very words, but other than that she seemed relatively content with him needing her opinion. Or something. "**Dr. Crane didn't mention any award..**" She started off, her eyes leaving Dr. Nashton for a moment as she glanced down to make sure one loose paper wasn't going to fall from her notebook. "**..but, that's great. I'll do whatever I can to help.**"

'Suspicious' wouldn't be a good word to describe her feelings toward Dr. Nashton at the moment. More like, wondering why Dr. Crane hadn't mentioned something of such good news to her. It wasn't like she needed to be told everything, but something that was such an honor in a field they were obviously both invested in, it would've been nice to know beforehand.

When he let go of her hand he causally wiped it on his pants leg. Those kids were known for germs, and he particularly did not want to get sick. Her comment about Dr. Crane proved how little knowledge she actually had. Obviously the award had not been given out so there was no reason for Crane to even assume he would get it…or this showed something else of her personality. She honored the man. She expected greatness, so she assumed if there was an award Crane would expect getting it and for some reason inform her about it. She overvalued Dr. Crane, and she overvalued her worth to Dr. Crane.

"We do not inform nominations until we have decided who the award is going to," he unnecessarily explained for the incompetent girl. Hopefully, she actually did have useful information. He noticed her shifting of notes and bags. It was starting to distract him and irritate him like a fly darting around food. "We should find a place to sit since you seem incapable of holding your stuff. Would you like a hand?" he offered his hand out half-heartedly. It was quite sad when the cripple has to hold your stuff for you.

He rolled the candy in his mouth again trying to calm his tense nerves. She was young, inexperience, and most likely deluded, but if she had the information he needed it would all be worth it.

A four year student of psychology could notice all the little quirks of Dr. Nashton, the wiping of his hand after the handshack and the little amount of snark in his comments among the things that didn't go unnoticed by Natalie. Unlike others who might've just ignored these little gestures, but also unlike the other others who might've outwardly said something, Natalie just grinned a little wider while her eyes narrowed in on him, unamused.

Noticing his hand again, Natalie shook her head and finally seemed to have adjusted everything comfortably. Excuse her for having to carry a heaping ton of books around for all her classes, all day. That was one thing she missed about high school; lockers. "**No thank you.**" She said flatly, and cleared her throat. "**So, it's decided that it'll be going to him?**" She asked, and pondered for a moment. She could've sworn that he said Dr. Crane was in a competition for the honor, and that's why he needed her opinion on something. Dropping the thought, she let out a quiet sigh, and returned her pleasant, fake smile.

"**What can I help you with, then?**" After all, he _did_ interrupt her class. The sooner she was finished with business with Dr. Nashton, the sooner she could return.

He wondered if she even had the ability to listen but reminded himself that she must have an infatuation with her professor. It was the only reason that made logical sense for her strange high expectations of Dr. Crane. The infatuation could either be helpful or a hindrance to his investigation into the professor. He hoped she wouldn't falsely exaggerate his persona, but rather give a more detailed account.

"No," he responded to question, "As I said before it's a competition. Depending on what you say will determine whether he receive the award." Hopefully the pressure would force her to give him better answers. If she were too focus on making the rest of her class, she would only hurry along (her annoyance of him for interrupting class never went unnoticed).

"I have questions. How does Dr. Crane spend his nights, and particularly what experiments has he been attempting? This will help us better understand how truly dedicated he is to his work and whether the type of experiments are actually helping advance the field of psychology. I understand if you don't know. It would be very surprising if a young woman of your statue understood any of his work. The fact you are able to keep up with the basics is amazing as is," he responded with a calm smile. While the last statement was true he didn't have to say it. He only said it to destroy her false illusion that she was an important aspect of the man's life. He hated lies, even lies people told themselves.

Listening to Dr. Nashton's further explanation, she nodded her head calmly and took another sip of the warm coffee; apparently she needed it. Her lack of sleep must've been more of a problem than she previously thought it to be, but then again, she did have the awful feeling of nervousness about her now. An award for Dr. Crane that depended on her answers? It definitely did put a great deal of pressure on her.

The first question she had to admit, was .. odd. How would she know how he spent his nights? The only thing she could do would be to put the little pieces of his personality that she knew well enough together. The second question was more fitting to what Dr. Nashton was after, she figured. Concerning his experiments. Even then, she only knew so much.

"**Dr. Crane spends a lot of his time doing his own research for his theories on primal human emotional responses, particularly fear. I would assume he spends time on it at his home as well.**" She says, and thinks about the second question for a minute longer. "**As for the details of his experiments,**" she began, but gave a slight shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders, "**I only know what he's shown everyone in the class. Sometimes he'll bring in lab rats and expose them to things that threaten them, which triggers their responses.**" In truth, she knew more than that, but she wasn't about to jeopardize his research or his career, for that matter. Many would object to it.

The last bits of his comments have Natalie sneering at him again. On the one hand they were insulting, while on the other hand a part of one comment seemed to be almost a half-comment. '_The fact you are able to keep up with the basics is amazing as is._' "**Yes. Well. I've paid attention in class, and I care about the subject, unlike the majority of the students here.**" She said monotonously, and took another sip of her coffee.

The information she provided had little use. He had determined all of that information before he even insinuated this meeting, but the way her eyes glanced for a quick moment showed that she was lying. She knew more. She knew a lot more yet she was only giving the shallow aspects of it. He frowned for a moment, tapping his finger on his cane. "As I thought, only the basics," he mumbled, knowing her agitation would force her to explain more.

"Disappointing really," he stated a bit louder. He didn't even listen to the girl's last comments to justify her self worth. "If that is really all you have, there is no reason to waste my time questioning you," he commented with a wave of his hand. He turned away from her and started walking away. His cane echoed against the wooden floorboards. He knew this girl's love for her professor would stop him. She couldn't be held responsible for Dr. Crane's lost award. Female emotions truly were the easiest to manipulate…well except for one. His mind jumped away from his goal again. His jaw tightened in irritation. He had gone so long without thinking about her. He would not start again.

Dr. Crane, yes that was his current focus. If the girl failed to supply the adequate information, a break-in into his office could be useful.

Dr. Nashton's dismissal of her information did irritate her to an extent, especially since he was so subtly rude about it. At least, he was trying to be subtle. Maybe. Giving the man a quiet scoff, she looked away from him again as he started to walk away, completely satisfied with the fact that she didn't give anything too much away abour Dr. Crane's research, and that she could get back to class.

Then again, there was that award to consider. It wasn't as if she'd tell _all_ she knew about the experiments, but a few moer vague details that the average student in any of his lectures wouldn't know wouldn't hurt anything.

"**There's only so much I can tell you, here.**" She said, and hoped that he turned around. She wouldn't object to meeting him elsewhere. One day of missing this class in particular wouldn't put her grade in any jeopardy. She already held the highest marks in the class. Afterward she'd assigned herself a two hour break, and she only ever really needed about fourty five minutes of that, on a busy day.

When she spoke to him, he automatically smirked. It was too easy. It was always too easy. There truly were only two people in this entire city that could challenge him. Everyone else was an easy manipulation. He stopped and turned around. Her statement was interesting and provided proof on its own. If what she had to say couldn't be said in public it was probably something frowned upon by the masses. Drugging people would be something that society would reject in a heartbeat. The chances of Crane being Scarecrow rose just slightly.

When he faced her, he almost looked bored. "I don't have a problem moving our location, but if we do, the information you provide better be something that will make Dr. Crane stand out. I will be quite annoyed if you waste my valuable time," he stated with his arrogant tone. He looked back at the girl. He enjoyed the fact that she found him a bit unbearable. Her narrowing eyes or small frown never went unnoticed, but she put up with it like a good woman should. She didn't seem smart enough to realize the situation she was in so maybe she was the perfect woman. She gets her job done and listens to the man without attempting to use her brain. If Crane was having relations with his students, he could understand. The girl bored him, but what more could you expect.

"I do have four other contestants to follow up on," he added to prove to her how important her role was.

Perhaps Natalie's greatest weakness was her naivety. The poor girl really did think that there was an award for Dr. Crane to win, even if she did have some internal gut suspicions about it. Those, however, were determined to be 'irrational' thoughts the more that she pondered their meaning. Emotional discrepencies that had no say whatsoever in standing in the way between something that could help Dr. Crane. Unfortunately, her best judgment at that point was completely blown off.

"**It will be.**" She said with a slight tilt of her head, as if adding a bit of her own arrogance to the conversation, seeing as Dr. Nashton didn't hold back with his own. Taking another sip of the coffee, she finished the drink and tossed the cup absentmindedly into a nearby trash bin, freeing up both hands. Clutching the notebook to her side, she shifted what small amount of weight she did have, and cleared her throat again. "**Somewhere relatively quiet. Preferably off campus.**" This wasn't necessarily a suggestion, but a fact. These factors _had_ to be met if she were to divulge information on the experiments.

_It will be_

The confidence that radiated off that statement made Edward happy for the first moment during this conversation. She knew something valuable, and if she knew something valuable then the probability of Crane being Scarecrow was expanding.

When she gave the requirements for her location, his mind automatically went to the old coffee shop. He hadn't been there since his…realization per say. It was quiet and off campus. No one ever listened the conversations on other tables, mainly because the guy might pull a gun or a knife on you. While it would be a perfect location to discuss this, he doubt a young student would feel comfortably going there. More importantly, he didn't technically have a car. Allen was waiting out in the parking lot for him. Also if he were to act this part he was playing, he wouldn't necessarily know about the coffee shop. Acting made things difficult. He stressed this again, this was acting not lying.

"I noticed a coffee shop when I drove by it, but it looked like it was in a bad area. I'm not bothered by it, but if that's not up to par with your standards I'm sure you could find another location," he answered.

No matter the location, he hoped he learned the riddle behind Crane soon. His curiosity was killing him.

The coffee shop he mentioned seemed like one she was familiar with. Mae's Cafe, in East Gotham. Of course, the only factor that made her guess he was talking about that particular establishent was the 'bad part of town' bit. Thinking it over, Natalie gave a shrug. "**I think I know where you're talking about, but that's a bit far, and I have class after this.**" She stated, and took a few steps forward.

There were plenty of other places within Gotham's central borough that wouldn't make her late for her next class, which happened to be Dr. Crane's. "**How about some place a little closer?**" She offered, and began to walk past him, apparently pretty eager to talk about all of Dr. Crane's accomplishments. Vaguely of course, never giving _too_ much away. Just enough to prove what a genius he really was.

The problem of transportation wasn't necessarily a problem in her eyes. She had a car, and she could assume he did too. They could just meet somewhere, some place easy to find. "**There's a cafe right down the road from campus, directly across from the bank. It's usually not too busy around this time.**" And if anyone knew the habits of nearly every coffee shop in Central Gotham, it'd be Natalie.

He almost laughed at her newfound enthusiasm. It was probably only apparent to a person with his level of deductive skills, but her quick pace and lighter tone suggested she was ready to talk. When she described the coffee shop she wanted to meet at, he was pretty sure they passed on the way into Gotham University. It seemed like attractive place for college students to go. Honestly, he had been a bit happy to get away from the students of Gotham. He despised dealing with their uncalled for arrogance and drunken stupidity. Unfortunately, her class was more valuable then his sanity…obviously. He inwardly scoffed. He silently begged that the coffee shop would indeed be slow.

"Yes I've seen it, I will meet you there then," he nodded at her as he watched her pass him. The only problem was once again his transportation. He could ride with Allen in the dark green car and plates that hinted to his true identity or he could walk. Or…

he could wait until Natalie got into her car before going into his and stop a block away. Yes, that was the best option. Maybe he would be lucky and her car was in an entirely different lot. His eyes caught sight of a water fountain. He would get a drink first just to give himself more distance.

There were only a precious few things that really made Natalie express any enthusiasm at all. Her research, Dr. Crane's research, and coffee. Even though she'd just finished a large cup of it, she knew she'd need more to make it through her last class of the day, after her pharmacology course. It'd be her second cup for the day, but it wouldn't be her last. Another $4.00 down the drain. So worth it in her eyes, though.

Without saying anything to him as she made her way out, she wandered outside of the hall and made her way to the parking garage. She was parked on the second floor, which was where she happened to park that morning as well. Second floor of the garage. Out a set of double doors, and it was almost an immediate right turn, followed by a long straight away. Another curve in the hall, and she was out the door and into the garage as well. Her car was at the far end, but eventually she got there, packed up all of her stuff in the back set, and got herself seated and ready to leave the garage.

Just a few moments later she was parking her car near a meter. She got out, locked the door, put some change in, and wandered into the cafe. There was no sign on Dr. Nashton yet, and she highly doubted that he beat her there. Upon walking in the cafe, she saw that there were only a few customers there, which was good. It'd be quiet, but not _too_ quiet. Standing at the counter, she ordered herself another drink; a regular cafe mocha that cost her $4.09 all together.

Finding a seat, she sat herself down and quietly sipped at her hot beverage, waiting for Dr. Nashton to arrive.

When he slid into the passenger seat to his dark green 2007 SSC Aero, he felt very comfortable that Natalie was nowhere in sight. He probably should buy a dumpy used car at some point so he wouldn't worried about the attention, but nice cars like these came in handy when dealing unexpectedly with the cops. He was very particular on use of cars. His van allowed him to store many of his products while his car allowed for speed. Buying a dumpy car for cover seemed almost wasteful. He turned to face Allen who appeared too big for the car.

"We done with the youngin's?" he asked starting up the car.

The Riddler adjusted his seat belt as he frowned. "No, you need to take me to the coffee shop that we saw right before campus. Drop me off a block away. I don't want you giving any clues away that could help her solve the riddle," he stated almost bored.

Allen just grunted annoyed, probably reminding himself how much he gets paid to be chauffer. The car zipped through the campus and smoothly pulled up on the sidewalk. Edward unbuckled his seat belt. (You always wear your seatbelt only morons would risk their lives by not doing a simple task). He grabbed his cane and swung open the door. "Drive around until I call you," he said before slamming the door shut. He adjusted his tie as he glanced back to see his car back into the traffic. He read over the license plate.

1497131

He smirked. He really was a genius even in the simple things. The numbers correlated to his last name, but no one looking for it would notice. He started walking to the coffee shop and soon appeared at the front door. The bell above the door sounded as he pushed it open. It only took him a moment to find Natalie with another cup of coffee. He could now certainly state the girl never slept. Even if she tried, the reminisce of caffeine in her system would keep her awake. He walked over to her and pulled out the chair before taking his seat. After leaning his cane against the table he finally looked at the girl who held the answers he needed of Dr. Crane. "So what may I ask couldn't be spoken in a more public area?" he said with a glint of interest in his eyes and a confident smile on his face.

Where the Riddler cared about practical things like the ability of his car to perhaps outrun the police in particularly hasty situations, Natalie never figured she needed to worry about that sort of thing. Her car, a 2000 Pontiac Sunfire with a good deal of miles to it's name got here where she needed to be just fine with no problems to speak of. Aside from the fact that she had to manually turn the radio off when leaving the car, since the pin in the door that normally automatically performed the task had worn out. Such a little thing didn't bother her though, especially considering that she hardly ever listened to the radio.

Waiting patiently for Dr. Nashton to arrive, Natalie gathered a few things from inside of her purse; a scrap of paper and a pen, and began to jot down a few notes. Something that she'd been doing during her behavioral analysis class. Not on the lecture material, but on something she felt was more important that was on her mind. The closest animal shelters to both the university and her house. There were plenty of places in Gotham to adopt a family pet, but she didn't need a _pet_. She needed subjects. Adopting ten dogs at once would be downright impossible what with peoples' sensitivities to hoarding and abuse these days. If she was going to go through with her experiment, she'd need to get a few from different shelters, or have Dr. Crane adopt a few too, and reimburse him for the difference that they might cost. The research would benefit him too, after all. If she needed the favor done, she couldn't see why he'd object.

The notes weren't really taken out of necessity, but just for something to do while she waited. Seeing Dr. Nashton enter the cafe, she tucked the piece of paper back into her purse, and kept her eyes on him until he sat down. She didn't welcome him in, didn't offer to get him anything like she might've done with other, more pleasant company. Instead, she just kept herself aware of his presence. When he asked his question, Natalie tapped her nails on the sides of her coffee cup, and glanced downward.

"**Dr. Crane's research .. he steps on a lot of toes.**" She started off, and furrowed her brows in irritation at the very thought of the morons who didn't understand his work. "**People who can't appreciate his passion to his work say that he's crazy, things like that.**" She stopped herself there though for a moment, trying to think of a good way to avoid too many details, but give enough to liken the chances of the award going to Dr. Crane. "**Like I said earlier, he's experimenting with particular emotional responses. Fear and panic, mostly. He's developed a way to test those reactions in rats and other small animals. '**_**Animal abuse**_**,' some people would call it.**" At the term 'animal abuse, Natalie rolls her eyes, and shakes her head. "**Lab rats. It's what they're for.**"

He listened carefully to her explanation, taking note to her facial expressions. The way she paused made him come to the conclusion that she was leaving something out of the story, but even without the details Edward could determine the man's methods were more extreme then the general public. The defensive looks and tone in her voice told him this girl was just as insane. Strange that insanity seemed to attract more insanity. However, it wasn't enough to make a connection to the man dressing as a Scarecrow.

"Animal abuse? The results must be quite impressive to cause such a reaction," he repeated his thoughts aloud to show he didn't care about the animal abuse but rather the conclusions. He didn't want the girl to run away in disgust accusing him of being one of those people. Not that Edward even cared for animals, they lacked less intelligent thoughts then humans did.

He decided he should tackle this puzzle from a different angle. He needed something else to compare.

The liquid drug.

"How do you implement the fear or pain response? Is it external or internal?" he asked hoping this would lead him in the direction he needed to go. If he used a liquid drug or gas, there would be too many similarities for Crane not to be his man. The next problem would be determining how to persuade the strange Doctor into helping him.

It was impossible to deny the benefits that the capacity of shape-shifting had for detection purposes. Adopting the form of a young Caucasian college student, the Martian Manhunter blended seamlessly into the college population. Musled, tall, and and with a gleeful face, his present appearance could have been one of hundreds of students at the university, leaving him free to conduct his work here unharrassed.

As for the nature of that work, it was focused entirely on the actions of a single individual, or more specifically, the alleged activities of a single individual. Someone was casting a long a shadow along the lower dregs of Gotham, a shadow of fear that slowly was creeping higher and higher, a shadow that whispered it would consume the city. Should this Scarecrow have his way, Gotham would tear itself apart through fear, tearing out its own heart and shattering its own soul.

It was a fate far too close to that of Mars for the Manhunter to let it pass. He had met with informants; had scanned the minds of a few who had suffered under whatever made the fear, looking for threads, connections, patterns. Slowly, a picture began to emerge, a guide that pointed to this very university. And so he was here now, scanning with he telepathic powers the minds of anyone who might know about the source of this fear. Systematically, he had covered the grounds of the university, finding nothing which warranted further investigation.

His presence at the coffee shop was, in a way, a sort of interregnum, given his love for chocolate, but he still continued his work, listen to the hundreds of stray thoughts that passed through this place as he munched on a brownie. Unnecessary for nutrition, but wonderful for simple taste.

He was about halfway through his treat when his mind caught a thought- half a thought, perhaps- an innocent, merely strange thought in and of itself, but jarring in context with his present search. A thought that joined the words _fear_ and _toxin_ in ways not usual to common parlance, and yet was in the mind that thought them wholly natural.

He had something.

Mere moments elapsed before he located the thinker, senses both physical and mental primed to hear the remaining conversation.

If one were to even insinuate that Natalie wasn't as sane as they come, it might offend her just a little bit. Of course she was sane. She was a _psychiatry_ student, for crying out loud. The mind was her playing field. She understood what went on in every lobe, what every neurotransmitter was responsible for. And with that knowledge also came the knowledge of how to destroy certain things within the brain. How to make people angry, how to make them sad, and how to panic until they were within inches of their lives. The latter was what she had started to enjoy most.

"**Of course they're impressive.**" Natalie practically interrupted Dr. Nashton; did he forget who was conducting the experiments? "**Dr. Crane's research has no real flaws.**" She stated confidently, and she really did believe that. The only flaw she could honestly think of was that it was '_unethical_' or '_inhumane_' to conduct them in class. Didn't stop him all the time, but she couldn't blame him for not showing the entire class everything. He did have his career to consider, after all.

The second question resulted in her taking in a deep breath, and exhaling calmly, smirking just a bit. "**It can be both.**" She said flatly. The gas was implemented externally, while the new liquid serum was injected; internally. "**Of course to keep his research protected I can't divulge **_**too**_** much information about it, you'll understand. It's not my research.**"

As far as the other entity within the cafe, he didn't bother Natalie in the least. Although she did cast an eye his way and gave him a cold sort of look, as if warning him not to intrude on their conversation.

He frowned in irritation. Her vagueness had gone from expected to just annoying. He needed to dig pass it, but she continued to dance along the surface similarly to how an ice skater glides across ice. The only thing he could be sure of was the high pedestal this child put her professor on. He would love when that fragile image of Crane was destroyed, but even if it was by her finally realizing he was the Scarecrow he was certain the girl would follow the man like Harley did the Joker. Why were women so pathetic?

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, I can understand having to mooch off other's work does limit your ability to divulge it. I was just hoping to better compare Crane's experiment with his fellow competitors. You see they have actually managed to create a liquid to directly effect the person's brain, but I guess I couldn't expect that from a" he paused in towards the end of his speech. He felt like he was being watched…very closely. It was a feeling he had come to trust especially with the amount of time he spent running from the law. He turned his head away from the girl and searched through the café.

There were four other people not including the two employees. One was a girl who was obviously a smoker. He noticed the fidget of her hand to her mouth that seemed recurring. Two were a couple obviously fighting over something. The last one was a man causally eating a brownie and appeared trapped in his own thoughts.

He wondered if that was the look he gave when he had one of his break through plans. He had to say he was suspicious of everyone, but nothing seemed too unusual. He was certain someone was watching. He glanced around the room in search of any cameras that were not security. He found none. He looked out the windows to see if anyone was in a car. No, nothing. His eyebrows furrowed together. This was quite a riddle. The feeling felt strangely familiar….like the GCPD had a wire tap somewhere….or…

No, he must be overreacting. He turned back to face Natalie. It didn't matter if someone was watching. He wasn't wearing his usual costume and there was nothing to hint to his true identity. Still…he would keep alert. He would not let an unsolved riddle be the end of him.

"I apologize. As I was saying, I don't expect much from a man who couldn't get pass the academic field," he stated hoping the insult would force her to defend the man she worshipped.

Dr. Nashton's frown didn't phase her much either. She didn't particularly care for him from the beginning just because he was an outsider who took her from her class, but upon talking with him further, she could hardly stand sitting in the cafe with him. At least she had her coffee. Taking another sip of it, she grinned at the comment about her mooching off of Dr. Crane's work, and even chuckled quietly, setting her cup down.

"**I **_**am**_** a student still, Dr. Nashton. I have to learn somehow.**" She replied calmly, although she was pondering what sort of reaction he would have to some of Dr. Crane's formulas. What was he afraid of? She thought it over while she had the chance, as he seemed distracted by the others in the cafe as well for a moment. Much more than she had been. Almost paranoid, in a way. She would've asked if he was alright had she cared at all about his well being, but instead she just let out a huff of breath and tapped her nails against the cup again.

The last comment of his did bug her, however. Just as he'd expected it to. He could insult her all he wanted. She didn't have much of a reputation to uphold yet. But Natalie did feel the need to at least minimally defend Dr. Crane. He had enough people talking bad about him plainly at the university, and that in itself was unwarranted. Her eyes narrowed, and she scoffed again. "**You do realize that he's one of the top psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum, don't you? That and his theoretical work alone makes him much more valuable than someone like you. Have you come up with any new psychological theories lately? Or at all?**" She didn't expect he did. Probably just some lowly office clerk that an otherwise respectable association sent out to do it's grunt work.

Crane casually walked out of his lab, securely locking it behind him. He was in a good mood. A damn good mood! Although the was tired, his fatigue didn't outweigh the joy of sweet success. He had taken down who he suspected to be the infamous Catwoman, as well as Robin! Both fell to his fear inducing liquid, and provided no fight. Furthermore, his new liquid wouldn't kill humans at a high dosage, and would eventually leave their system. He could not be happier!

He walked outside of Gotham University, grabbing a newspaper on his way. Clearly some people could suspect Crane, but honestly, no one would care to look into him with other maniacs running about the city.

A bus turned around the corner, right as Crane was a couple feet from the bus stop. The large hunk of metal stopped in front of him. The doors shot open, and immediately he boarded and sat at the nearest available seat. He spread the newspaper out, and scanned the articles. He was surprised to see that he didn't make front page! instead there was an article about a man named "the Riddler" Formerly known as Edward Nigma, a man of genius intellect, and mischief to match. He's made efforts to contact the Joker, and he even had Batman on his tail for triggering an economical crisis. Crane was almost insulted this man made front page instead of him. But no big deal. The front page offered a shot from a security camera. He wore a funny looking hat and always walked with a cane. There was a sub article covering a leg injury the man had occurred one day while running, and was forced to use the cane to move about.

It wasnt until the second page he found his article. It had in detail that he was the first one to completely immobilize Robin, as well as breaking into a high security luxury condominium complex. It was even said, had he not left citing " an experiment" he could have beaten Batman as well. The article ended with the caption "Looks like the Dark Knight has a different type of fight on his hands now, and we all have something to fear.." He almost felt like a celebrity. Reduced the Boy Wonder to a cowering infant.

The bus stopped down the street from a cafe. Crane had remembered seeing Natalie carrying one of their cups before. Come to think about it, he hadn't seen her all day. If memory served him correctly, which it usually did, she would be in class right now.

He stepped off the bus and walked down the street further. He started to walk in front of a cafe when he saw her talking to a man. Crane stopped and observed him. He seemed familiar. He was dressed nicely, completely with a... Cane...? Images of the article he literally just read flashed through his head. Could it be? No! He wasn't sure until he saw a green car take a left turn in front of the cafe. He read the lisence plate.

1497151

He folded the paper over, and wrote out the alphabet. He began to number each letter.

"A, D, I, G, A, E, A"

He frowned and scratched the side of his head.. That made no sense at all! He decided to try something else

"N, I, G, A, E, A"

It wasn't completely there, but now for sure he got the hint. An obvious riddle in disguise. A weakness of Edward Nigma. He cant keep himself from anything, even the riddles he shouldn't be asking! He had messed with the wrong genius mind. What would he want of Natalie? Maybe he was trying to get to Crane through her! He had to hurry before Natalie told him too much. He probably came up with a convincing story to turn her mind.

Crane folded the newspaper and through it to the side on the street. He walked into the cafe, pretending to not notice them. He shoved his hand into his pockets and pretended he was viewing the drink menu. Very casually he turned his head over to look at Natalie. He quickly approached the table

"Well if it isn't my favorite student!" He patted her on the shoulder.

He turned to Nigma, had a slight smile and pointed a finger at him

"And you must be?..."

Before he had a chance to respond, Crane shot back in.

"Im professor Crane!"

He extended his hand out.

Natalie's outburst was a bit more extreme then he had expected. It was like watching a mother bear protect her cub from the evil hunter. It also unfortunately provided…nothing! To top it off, she insulted him. Him! He was the Riddler, and she suggested some ordinary Doctor held some higher standing then him! His hand turned into a fist for a mere moment before he quickly reached into his pocket for his pain reliever candy. _She didn't know who he was_, he reminded himself. She was too intellectually slow to even realize who he was. There was no reason to take offense to her outlandish remarks.

He was so distracted by his fury he didn't hear the bell announcing the entrance of a new customer. He unwrapped the lollipop as he forced a smile. "Dear, you highly underestimate my success, but as I told you before we are not hear to discuss me but…" he was interrupted by a man coming over in their direction. The man was tall and appeared rather lanky. He hadn't been in the café before when he did his once over for any clues. Was this man the reason for his paranoid feeling? He glanced over his professional, but slightly old fashion suit. A professor…ah. What a coincidence…

He had only seen a small photo next to one of the published academic articles, but he could still easily deduce this was Doctor Crane. To think the almost impossible to contact Doctor would appear at a café the very time he was quizzing his TA about him. It almost seemed too perfect, yet the protective pat on the shoulder showed Edward there was a small bit of worry and this wasn't planned. Why would he be worried?

Two Options:

One, he truly was in love with this pathetic lowly girl and actually thought Edward was coming in on his territory. (This thought almost laughable to Edward)

Two, he had something to hide and Natalie knew the secret.

_What is it you have to hide, Crane? Is there a Scarecrow in your closet? _He wondered thoughtfully as the man quickly introduced himself.

Edward plopped his sixth lollipop of the day in his mouth before getting his cane to stand up. He was a gentleman, after all, and had manners most of the human race chose to forget. He held grabbed the held out hand and gave a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure, Dr. Crane. I'm Dr. Nashton. I was discussing something of Natalie's future," he stated glancing at the girl hoping that she would take it that they could not discuss the award in front of Dr. Crane. It wasn't a lie per say. They were discussing Natalie's future it just pertained more to Crane then to her, but she would still perceive it in the future. A lie cannot be a lie if you give the clues to the truth. "Would you like to join?" he asked pointing to their table. The girl wouldn't give him any decent clues, but hopefully observing the man in person would confirm his suspicions. He only wished that annoying being watched feeling would go away.

Natalie wasn't very well known throughout the university. A few people knew here name and a few more people associated her with Professor Crane, but otherwise she kept a pretty low profile. Because of this, her personality was even less known. She'd never been one to have an aggressive personality, or even passive aggressive. Most of the time she just let stuff that bothered her slide, or it'd at least seem that way. For some reason though, Dr. Nashton just grated on her nerves. It was his arrogance, his ego, and his rudeness all combined that made her want to pour scalding hot coffee on that nice suit of his, ruining the suit and harming him in the process.

Keeping her eyes on Nashton, it was the bell that he failed to hear that caused her to look up, and sink back into her seat just a bit, as if Professor Crane wouldn't approve of her leaning forward to defend his research and character or something. Really, she hoped that he wouldn't notice her, but there were so few people in the cafe that ultimately, he most likely would. Again, she took a drink of the coffee, though this time it was a much needed swig instead of just a sip. She sat the cup down a little more firmly than she had previously, almost completely in time with when Dr. Crane gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"**Good morning, Dr. Crane.**" She said quietly, and smiled as much as she could before glaring back at Dr. Nashton. Obviously, she couldn't mention anything about the award to Dr. Crane. That much she knew from the very nature of awards, but also due to Nashton's white lie.

Afterward, she went silent. She didn't have much more to say to Nashton since Crane could defend himself if he chose to attack the professor anymore with him being right there. Instead, she stifled a yawn and looked back at the wall behind her, glancing at the time. She still would've been in class now, and she was half tempted to excuse herself from the situation now that she wasn't really _needed_ anymore. But, Nashton did move the conversation to her. A cue to stay, probably. Turning back to face the two of them, she looked from one to the other, and then back down at the table, quiet.

Dr Nashton. An obvious alias of the Riddler. However, Crane would not call him out on it in a public place. For all he know, the riddler could have the place rigged with a bomb, an extermination squad waiting, or even a weapon on him. If anything happened to Natalie, he wouldn't forgive himself. Dr. Nashton shook his hand firmly. He spoke the lie that Crane easily saw through. His cover was blown long ago. He decided it would be best to continue playing along, and waiting to expose him after he left.

"Dr. Nashton.. I actually read an article about you.. But I cant for the life of me get anymore specific."

He gave off a ton, a vibe, that surely someone of the Riddlers quality would pick up on. He had to know at this point by Cranes body language, and facial expressions he knew something was up.

"But I was also reading something else on the way over here.."

He said quickly changing the tone of the conversation

"A freak who's managed to do what I have not even came close to accomplishing.. He was able to create something to induce fear hallucinations. I even hear one of the victims is in a coma."

He pulled out a seat in between Nashton and Natalie, and rudely rested his elbows on the table

"Its quite fascinating really. I had a theory of how it could be accomplished, but no success. This man had to have gotten something like this over seas. Maybe some research from the former Soviet Union?.. Perhaps the Japanese or Chinese managed to beat me on my research. None the less, I feel I have competition. I'd like to get my hands on a sample, maybe I could find a way to neutralize the toxins it left in that poor woman's system."

He made his efforts to try and make himself seem less of a suspect. Surely a genius like Edward Nigma would see straight through him. Crane could be convincing when he tried though. After his mini speech, he turned to Natalie.

"Discussing her future? This is a woman with a bright light at the end of her tunnel. She definitely has a job at Arkham after her degree is finalized . I will see to that."

Interesting…very interesting. Edward took in every shift of the man's hand and every change of pitch in his voice as he communicated. The particular words he chose were clues in themselves. The Doctor knew Edward's true identity…or he thought he knew his true identity? Edward knew for sure that his alias of Doctor Nashton had been compromised. He knew for a fact there wasn't an article written by any Nashton, so the chances of him reading one would be zero. Crane's confidence in his statement informed Edward though that he had indeed read an article on him. The puzzle pieces clicked in his mind with the thought. There was an article on him, front page article actually. Of course, some one as professional as Crane would read the paper religiously, and if he remembered correctly the article was accompanied by a photo. Edward had only glanced at it in annoyance because it went into his past once again. He doubted any Gotham citizen deserved to know the reasons behind his life, yet the paper printed them all and made their own false speculations on the reason he became the Riddler. It was quite degrading really. However, photo and article could give large clues to who he actually was even in his black suit.

But what puzzled Edward more was not the fact that he knew, but the fact he choose to stay and have a discussion with him. Any normal citizen when realizing this piece of news would scatter for their life. They would not play along with the façade and take a seat across from a supposed murderer. He smirked. Only another criminal would feel comfortable seating across from a criminal. To think only a short interaction with the man would confirm his answer. He almost thought the man was giving him these clues on purpose….as if challenging him. He had to respect the Doctor's own intelligence, but it would never surpass his own.

Dr. Crane was Scarecrow.

His next rant only verified the conclusion. There was no reason to bring up the man dressed as a Scarecrow then purposefully distance yourself from…better yet brag about the Scarecrow's accomplishments. He remembered himself doing something similar when the GCPD questioned him about the Riddler.

"_The man appears to be a genius that unfortunately I can't even compete. I'm delighted you would compare him to me though."_

Yes, it was the very same tactic he had used, so not only was the man Scarecrow but he had an arrogance to match his own. He almost laughed…oh who was kidding, he did laugh.

The only thing that caught him as odd was his protective nature of the girl. Crane actually did have some sort of feelings for her, even if they were only paternal. Strange…

Hmm. Well this situation had drastically changed in a matter of moments. He knew the man was Scarecrow, but how would he convince the Doctor to open up his work to him and more thoroughly give him part of his product?

"Oh don't be modest, everyone remembers their first time," he stated with a smirk, "and has all right to brag. It's quite unfortunate Selina was caught in the cross fire though." He completely ignored Crane's comment about Natalie. He couldn't bring himself to care about the dull quite irritating girl. He had found his man, and soon he would find Batman's identity. He also mentally checked the gun in the waist band of his pants. This man was the Scarecrow meaning dangerous. He would not be caught unprepared, which reminded him that someone was still watching them. He would have to careful with the exact wording of his statements.

Whether or not she was in the company of two serious criminals, Natalie wasn't sure, nor would she have cared even if she was positive. At the moment her life wasn't in any danger, and there wasn't any real reason for her to be frightened anyway. Taking a better glance at Nashton, Natalie could notice the similarities between this so-called Dr. Nashton and the Riddler, a criminal that she never could quite 'get.' Such a strange thing to have an obsession with; riddles. Though she did understand the philosophy that everything in life was a riddle essentially. That didn't mean she agreed with it, though.

Leaving the talking to Dr. Nashton and Dr. Crane, Natalie kept to herself, but listened to what each one said. Particularly the professor. He started to talk about someone who'd managed to create something that created fear hallucinations, which immediately caught her strict attention. She knew for a fact that Dr. Crane had in fact created something of that sort, so why he wasn't taking the credit for it, but in fact playing like he was irritated that someone else did it made her give him an odd look. Then the words '_victim_' and '_coma_' sunk in, and she placed the pieces together as well. Natalie knew Dr. Crane's work too thoroughly for her own good, and there couldn't have been more than two people in Gotham City who were interested in weaponizing fear.

Rather than be horrified or even slightly off-put that her professor and mentor was among the ranks of masked criminals in the city, Natalie seemed.. apathetic. She didn't have much of a reaction to her own realization. In part that was due to the circumstances of where they were; in the company of another criminal and out in broad daylight where a few too many words could end up with him not teaching at the university anymore, and that was probably the last thing that she'd want to happen.

Crane's comment about her being intelligent and getting a job at Arkham only got a small grin out of her, all the sudden getting an overwhelming feeling of nervousness that she didn't really care for. To cope with it, she took another drink of the coffee, and kept her eyes on the table instead of either one of them. It wasn't as if she could say anything, really. Dr. Crane could defend himself and his research, she didn't have to add in her own opinions on anything. There was yet another nagging feeling that she should get her things and take the rest of the day off.. but that could be considered suspicious behavior on her part. Then again, she didn't want to just leave Dr. Crane with who she felt more and more to be the Riddler, either.

Instead, she didn't do anything. For once, she didn't thank Dr. Crane for his comment. She didn't say anything to Nashton, either. Instead she just thought the situation over a few times in her head, and wished the clock would reach 12:00pm so she could have an excuse to leave.

The conversation was interesting, to say the least. Guarded, certainly. A discussion of the work of one Dr. Crane. It was too much to hope the two were discussing exactly the same topic the Manhunter himself had come to investigate; nevertheless, he continued listening. The conversation lasted only few minutes when who should arrive but the good doctor himself.

Suspicion washed over the martian. It was too big a coincidence that Dr. Crane should appear at the moment he himself was a major topic of conversation. No, what was happening here was far from normal, far from right. What this group was formed to discuss he was far from certain, but one thing was clear to him: it was far from right. It was time to act.

Rising, he swallowed the last bite of his brownie, and walked over to the cluster of three individuals.

"Dr. Crane!" he exclaimed, his voice the ordinary one of a young human male, not the reverberating warble that martian throats produced, "It's so good to see you here! I just wanted to say you last lecture on Jungian archetypes was the most enlightening thing I've heard in a long time."

Not that J'onn had attended that lecture, but Crane had, and that was enough for the manhunter. His entrance into the situation, casual as it might appear, was far from random; it was instead a calculated move to interject himself at precisely the right moment to break up what was occurring, to shake up what was planned for this meeting, and to judge from their reactions what, exactly, was up.

Though there still existed the outside chance it was all innocent, every passing word increased J'onn's doubt of the fact. The proof was by no means entirely rigorous, but he was quite sure of one thing: whether or not one of these three was who he was looking for, all of them were up to no good.

And that is where heroes intervene.

Edward Nigma claimed everyone knew their first time. He might as well have just painted a giant question mark on his chest and forehead. He then looked over at Natalie. She paid no attention to his comments, which was completely unlikely. She was very uncomfortable, and had to sense that something was wrong. None the less she was in trouble if Nigma tried something. On a flip side to that, Cranes efforts may have backfired on him. Either he was positive now of Cranes identity, or was even more lost. He knew not to underestimate the genius minds of some madmen.

As he was about to find a reason for himself and Natalie to leave, and from there make his plot on Edward. By dragging Natalie out of her class, he had declared war on Crane. He could have easily turned it into a hostage situation, and got whatever he wanted from Crane.

Right when he was about to stand, a young man claiming to be his student approached him. He got a weird vibe from him. Even before he spoke, just making eye contact with him told him that there was more to this young man than meets the eye. He got a similar feeling from Dick Grayson, and Barbara Gordon. The young man amended him on a great lecture. Crane had never seen the boy before, and Crane was a man who paid attention to his students and tried to learn their names. He also smelled of chocolate.

"I appreciate your compliment, and trust you'll be in my classroom in the next hour for my other lecture correct? I have photographic memory, and hope to see you there. As for you Dr. Nashton, Natalie and I must be leaving, we have business to attend to."

He held Natalie's arm, and awaited her to stand. He began to escort her out, walking past the young student telling him of his enlightening words. Before he opened the door, he shouted to Dr. Nashton

"By the way... That suit would look MUCH better in green..."

This was Cranes way of telling him he knew who he was. He opened the door for Natalie and himself, and darted out with her.

"I dont suppose you figured out who that was... Did you...?"

He said to her in a slightly irritated voice, still walking with her quickly.

The first thing that caught Natalie's attention was the other 'student' that wandered up to Crane and offered his opinion of a particular lecture. The girl's eyes narrowed considerably at him, and she gave him a half irritated sort of look. "**Dr. Crane is **_**busy**_** at the moment, if you don't mind.**" She said quietly, but very matter-of-factly. As if he should be ashamed of even thinking about bothering him at the moment. Really! Couldn't he see that he was in the middle of a conversation? It bugged her more than it probably should.

Dr. Crane taking her arm caught her mildly by surprise, and she gathered up her things with her free hand, standing up just a few seconds afterward. She hurried along as quickly as she could, but he had been walking a bit too quick at first, resulting in a little stumble on her part. Nothing _too_ ungraceful, just enough for her to grumble something to herself and head out the door with her arms close to her side, holding the coffee that was already nearly up a little bit so that none of the contents would accidentally spill out.

His comment about Nashton's suit looking better in green only confirmed what half-hearted suspicions she had about the man actually being the Riddler that'd only formed within the past few minutes, and she waited for him to walk out of the cafe before she frowned, and reached into her bag to get her keys.

"**Not at first, I didn't.**" She said, her tone quiet like usual. In fact, it probably seemed like she was incapable to speak very loudly at all, ever. "**He said he wanted to ask me a few questions so you could be considered for an award, and he looked professional enough..**"

Thinking more on it, the whole situation seemed like a dumb mistake on her part, and it was pretty frustrating. Natalie felt like she should apologize for putting his research at risk; even though she knew not to give too much away, but there was still the fact that he had dropped hints about his own 'secret' alter-ego too, which made conversation a bit more awkward than she cared for.

Following her own pattern, Natalie kept quiet again.

Edward wasn't a cruel man, society argued differently, but Edward had great respect for people who had some sign of mental intelligence (intelligence below himself of course, but intelligence none the less). They were rare, as rare as blue diamonds, but he had come across a few. Strangely, most of these few tended to be involved in the same late night activities frowned upon by the general public. For that reason, he rarely had problems with other rogues. Not entirely true, there were a few incidences, it happened when you manipulated people. He also never trusted any of them as far as he could throw them, but overall he could have interesting discussions over a few drinks at the Ice Berg Lounge or more often, discussions when bounded to a chair at Arkham during group sessions.

He had thought Jonathan Crane could join that group he called….frie…acquaintances. A man obsessed with fears and the way the mind works would provide a very interesting conversation that could limit Edward boredom for….a few minutes at least, yet Crane appeared to disagree with this sentiment. Edward had hoped in hinting that he knew Crane's identity and realized Crane knew his, Crane would be opened to a bargain of sorts. He was wrong.

Edward was never wrong.

He cringed at the very idea. It insulted him to his core, and he had to change the fact immediately. Now admittedly, he had first thought the reason for Crane's strange actions were based on his own ability not to trust Edward. It was an intelligent decision. Edward was a known criminal and it would only be logical to assume the worst of him. Crane also appeared to be overly protective of the girl. It appeared his first clues of their relation were true, not just Natalie's obsession with her Professor, but Crane's infatuation with his student. He inwardly scoffed. For a supposedly smart man he was allowing a huge weakness and was visibly showing that weakness to everyone. Edward would never allow such a weakness to affect himself…he stopped the thought.

_Not the time to be distracted, Nigma._

Again though, Edward felt almost proud that the man that claimed to be in control of fear was running away from him like a bunny from a shotgun…even when Edward provided no significant threat. Yes, he had felt proud…slightly annoyed that he would have to contact him again to convince him to release some of the information on his toxins. He needed the hallucinogen to force Catwoman to reveal Batman's identity. It was part of his overall plan. It was of course, the part of the plan he believed to be the simplest that would become the most difficult.

He had wanted to call out to the man, but he was already at the door before he could get a word in. If he had the ability of his leg, he would have ran after him.

No, no he wouldn't have. He doesn't chase after others. They come to him.

Then the last comment left his mouth.

_That suit would look MUCH better in green._

Edward's jaw tightened as his hand turned into a fist. The man had the gull to taunt him, and his identity in such a way (in a public place none the less). Insulting. This newbie actually believed he had the right to speak to him like that. The comment destroyed his previous notion of fright. He realized the man was not running away, but rather retreating to prepare for a challenge. He was going challenge the Riddler. Ha. Intelligences outweigh fear in all aspects of life. Fear can be conquered. Intelligence was something either a person had or did not. It could never be achieved. If the Scarecrow thought Edward was frightened, he was far from it.

He was angry. Even the Riddler wasn't stupid enough to take on the Joker when he first started his riddles!

"Ich werde nicht von einem Mann für erschrecken Krähen bekannt abgebaut," he mumbled out in German.

When Crane left out the door, he finally allowed himself to focus on the unusual student who had interrupted their conversation. He had been suspicious of him before, and his strange time to intervene in their conversation made him question the boy more. He studied him, and he appeared average…too average. Except

For his eyes. They seemed older then a young twenty something. They also had wisdom and focus to detail but also not fully there. He was once again reminded of Nina. He remembered the way her eyes glossed over when she wasn't focusing on the bare surface, but rather what was beneath. Yes, it was a similar look. Another meta-human…possibly. Why would a meta-human choose that moment to interrupt them? Was he really a student of Crane's? It seemed strange that Crane didn't greet the boy by name. However, that could just be because he didn't care for anyone else besides Natalie. He smirked, "You're professor is interesting to say the least," he commented as he grabbed his cane to stand. He didn't trust the boy, but he wouldn't be rude either. However, he had to determine a riddle for the Scarecrow. It was the only option for a person who was challenging him, and while the Scarecrow was trapped in his riddle he would get his toxin. He needed to plan again and didn't have time for a strange kid. He looked into the boys eyes one more time when he stood up. That look….it seemed familiar and the professional straight posture stance almost to straight for a normal human….it all seemed very familiar.

"Do I know you?" he asked the puzzle aloud. He could never leave before a puzzle was solved.

(Translate: I will not be degraded by a man known for scaring crows.)

The Martian Manhunter had no expectation for the reactions of the three parties to his interference; to do so would have been an error, biasing his judgment of what did happen. In place of such speculations, he had only a sense of readiness, a preparation for whatever might happen. He needn't have worried. The only reactions were looks of suspicion, chastisement regarding manners, and a rapid exodus of Crane and the girl from the scene.

The last two were normal, ordinary, or at least innocent. The first far more interesting. The reactions of must people to interruptions was shock, or perhaps distaste, but suspicion came with one of two precipitating factors. The first was authority. The second guilt. Crane might have either; but there was no reason the other man should have the first. The girl seemed merely neutral, which was a point in her favor. Whatever occurrences were happening behind the scenes here, it seemed unlikely she was a part of it. But the other two... telepathy was not necessary to know they regarded each other with distrust at the very least.

Interesting.

As Crane departed, his final comment about a suit looking better in green momentarily caught the martian off guard, the verdant hue of his native form strong in his mind. But it was stronger still in the mind of the other man; anger rose up in him like a flooding river, potent, powerful. A German phrase flew from his mouth, one the Martian understood immediately.

Scarecrow. It was a fitting name for a man who dealt in fear. It meant two things. First, he had found his target; second, this other man was far from an ordinary scientist, or the thought would not have entered his mind. Which made the inherent connection of suspicion to guilt all the more interesting.

Which meant he had two of the men who fed off Gotham's suffering before him. Two who were dragging the city down for their own benefit. Or at least what earthly law would have called reasonable cause. But as of yet he had no proof, nothing that would stand up in court- and without that, making a move would have been worse than detrimental; it might have decimated any chance of bringing either of these men to answer for their crimes. No, for now he had only targets, people to follow and to watch, and when the time was right, he would end their careers of injustice.

He watched Crane leave out of the corner of his eye, ears catching the professor's last words. So Crane knew the identity of this man. Something to take into consideration. Crane might make the first move. His first instinct was to follow, perhaps invisibly, but the other man now rose and studied J'onn, asking if they knew each other.

J'onn smiled coyly, mouth forming words in the language the man had used only moments before. **"Falls vorhanden Wege fortfahren, können Sie mich besser kennen."**

Two could play at this game. It was a warning, a solemn vow that the Martian Manhunter would not rest until whatever evil these men hoped to accomplish was dead and buried.

[In English: "If present paths continue, you may get to know me better."]

While the boy's natural tongue of German caught him off guard, it was more the statement that caused realization to hit. He frowned immediately. The boy wasn't a member of the GCPD. The boy knew his identity, and he was too intelligent and calm in speech to be boy blunder, which left one possibility…

Justice League.

He wanted to spend time thinking about how it was even remotely possible for two criminals and a member of the Justice League to be in the same café at the exact same moment, but he currently didn't have that time. He had to figure out which member it was. He couldn't even analysis why a Justice League member would be getting into the Bat family territory. Was Batman not handling up to par standards? No, no time. He mentally went over every member of the Justice League similar to how a computer streams through data. He had been collecting news articles, listening to criminal rumors, gathering intel on each member to be prepared if such a situation would ever occur. He had unfortunately had contact with members like Green Arrow and Arsenal before, and he knew the way to handle anyone of these meta beings was to know their weaknesses. The boy was obviously a member, but who? The boy was too young to be an actual member meaning…this wasn't his real body. Who out of the Justice League could change their form?

…

Damn it.

His frowned deepened even more. Martian Manhunter? He was beginning to believe fate was against him. What made the entire thought process worse was his last thought.

Martian Manhunter can read minds.

His grip tightened on his cane. He had one thing to benefit from. It appeared that Martian Manhunter wasn't making a move to take him in. He was obviously not the prime target, which meant Crane was. Still, it didn't necessarily mean he was in the clear. He couldn't just walk out of here. He would probably follow him, and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. (In something to note that this entire thought process took a matter of seconds). And of course it was that moment his phone vibrated with a message. He reached into his pocket quickly and pulled out his blackberry. He clicked on the center button revealing the text.

Scarface just seen entering her apartment, Boss.

Most would call having Robby following Nina coming close to stocking, but Edward considered adequate protection.

"Selbst Götter fiel von Olympus für die Verführerin der Frauen," he growled, annoyed with himself for the negative emotion flooded him. He never believed in fate or a religious god, that would require believing someone held a higher position then himself, but once again, he swore fate was out to get him.

He had to get out of here, but he couldn't create a plan without this Martian knowing it. He finally turned his eyes back at the 'man.' What a riddle he was in…what a challenging difficult riddle? How do you escape from a man who knows your every thought?

You cloud your thoughts.

He smirked. This could be fun. "Something has come up. I can't say I find it inconvenient because I never enjoyed the false proclamation of justice getting into my business, especially without a riddle," he stated with a nod and false smile, and it would be the last coherent thought he had in the coffee shop.

Coffee. Hot Coffee. Girl. Dress. Hair. Coffee. Hand. Nina. Scarface. Coffee. Door. Exit. Enemy. Goal. Coffee. Get Out. Green. Very nice green. Coffee. More Green. Plant. Cigarettes. Cigarettes! Green. Nina. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Are you picking you're nose, this a public place! More stupid. Coffee. Scarface. Dead. Very dead. Smell of brownies. Cigarettes. Yes, cigarettes. Green. Bad outfit. It is hard for you to get dress in the morning? You're going to lose.

He walked away from the Martian causally as he headed towards the exit. Napkins. Questions. Riddles. Everything is filled with Riddles. Car. I need my car. Coffee. Window. Keep jumping thoughts. Don't focus on one thing. Jump. Thoughts have to jump. Who created the coffee holder? How much money do they get? Napkins. Hair. Napkins and Hair. As he walked passed one of the girls at the table closest to the door he smiled politely at her. "Do you have a light?" he asked bending down just slightly.

Keep thoughts jumping. Nina. Nina, why didn't you listen? Coffee. Girl chews her nails…gross. Obviously stressed. Napkins. Table. Chair. Hair. Door. Riddle. The girl looks surprise, possibly because he's older and smoking is less common in his age group. "Sure," she answers with a small smile. She must find him attractive. I am attractive. Very attractive. Her hand reached into her purse. Chewed nails. Stress. Coffee. Exit. "Here you go," she said stupidly handing him the lighter in his outreached hand that had his cane. She should know he doesn't smoke. Stupid. Stupid people.

Napkins. Cigarettes. Weaknesses. Coffee. Never challenge me. He reached down in a hurry and grabbed a large clump of napkins. Then with a quick flick of the finger lit the bundle of napkins on fire. The paper lit fast, and right before he tossed it onto the girl's hair he turned to the boy he knew was Martian Manhunter and said, "Riddle me this, what create and destroys life all with a spark?" The girl's hair caught flame quickly even with her throwing her panic limbs trying to protect her. It was followed by screams and frozen shocked faces.

The Riddler smirked. The Justice League member wouldn't be able to follow him if he was helping the girl…better yet it was fire. He remembered from his data that fire was a sort of weakness to the Martian being. The Martian wouldn't be able to physically help her, but he couldn't leave the girl in flames either. He couldn't allow the fire to reach her skin and kill her. No hero would allow that.

"Good day to you all," he said dropping the lighter onto the table and heading towards the door. Now to deal with Scarface, who had foolishly decided to mess with what was his and put him in this horrible mood. Bad day. Very bad day.

(Translate: Even gods feel from Olympus for the temptress of women)

Professor Crane held Natalie by the wrist as they stormed out of the cafe. He wanted to yell at her, but he knew deep down he couldn't hold her responsible. The Riddler was a convincing man, and had Crane not read an article about him literally 1 minute before seeing him, then he wouldn't have known it was him either. The odds were way too slim for everything to have happened the way it did. From behind him, he could hear screams coming from the cafe.

"It was the Riddler..."

Of course by this point Natalie had already realized this. She was now in danger. He could've took her anywhere and used her against him. His research was in danger as well. All sorts of measures would have to be taken to keep everything to himself, and to keep Natalie out of trouble.

"We need to go back to my lab.. I've made a huge breakthrough.."

While he was walking he remembered that he took the bus. He was pretty sure Natalie had a car.

"Eh.. You did come in your car didn't you?"

He asked to her raising an eye brow

Yelling at Natalie would do Professor Crane no good, so it was probably for the best that he'd decided to follow his better judgement and just leave it at a few short words about who the man was. Keeping her eyes on the pavement, she nodded slowly and muttered an apology under her breath that he probably couldn't hear anyway, all the while not fighting against his grip on her wrist. It wasn't like he was hurting her, but even if he was, she _did_ put his research in danger. In a way she almost felt like she deserved it.

"**I knew I recognized the name 'Nashton' somewhere before, but I couldn't think of it right away. And he mentioned an award, I'm sorry.**" Tossing the rest of the practically empty cup of coffee into a garbage can, she glanced up at Dr. Crane at the mention of a breakthrough, and finally grinned again.

"**You did?**" She asked, but then the other clues of his own costumed identity revealed themselves again, and she hesitated, but spoke up. "**Something to create a reaction?**" She asked quietly and vaguely, just in case someone walking by happened to pick up on their conversation and know what they were talking about. Paranoia on her part, but after being so careless, she felt she should be too careful.

With her keys in her hand, she nodded at his other question, and gave a tug of her wrist to signal that her car was in a different direction. Parked on the street and with only a few minutes remaining. Using the remote on her keychain, she unlocked the doors from a distance. Back to Dr. Crane's lab it was.


	12. Death Kiss

Allen slammed the breaks in front of the small apartment building. Edward swung open the door and pushed himself out without saying a word. He didn't have too. Allen knew he was supposed to park, grab Robby, and follow him as soon as possible. The Riddler knew Allen thought the concept of running to a girl was utterly ridiculous and beneath his payroll, but Allen wasn't stupid enough to question him…especially when the Riddler was mentally arguing over the same point. He shouldn't care that the Ventriloquist and Scarface were in the building. He shouldn't care that Nina might be in danger. Caring was hampering his plans and his schedule, but he couldn't stop the way he felt. If only Nina had listened to him! He wouldn't be wasting his time and causally committing arson. There was a possibility that the Ventriloquist wasn't even bothering Nina, and then this truly would be a waste of time.

He yanked opened the entrance door. The security guard didn't take notice. He had his feet up on the desk as he lazily read a magazine. He glanced over it, and saw a plain man in a suit. He thought nothing out of the ordinary. Stupid people. He probably just let the man with a puppet walk in the same way. Nina, you couldn't at least get better security? Edward pushed the up button in irritation as he waited for the elevator. When the metal doors slide opened he realized he didn't have a plan. He inwardly groan. This woman! Why did she always have a talent to ruining his logical thought process? He always had a well thought out plan. He walked into the elevator pressing the button to her floor. He had to think of a plan fast then. If Scarface was at her apartment, he was there to hurt her. Why would he want to hurt her? She had no relation to the puppet. The only thing that could connect Scarface to Nina was himself, but he was certain he kept his feelings for Nina quiet…he was more certain he had done nothing to Scarface to grant revenge. His hand tightened along his cane as he imagined what type of revenge it would be. If Nina was…

No, she wouldn't be dead.

Scarface would attempt to knock her out. If he had accomplished that then he would take her somewhere. Nina wouldn't even be in her apartment! Robby hadn't seen Scarface leave, but if he happened to miss him…the boy would be sleeping with the rats. The elevator door opened to the floor, and he walked out into the hallway. His cane made a thud against the carpet with force until he reached the door. When the door finally sat in front of him, he realized again he still hadn't come up with a plan. He was here…and he had no plan.

He mentally cursed himself. He needed more information before he could make a plan. If she wasn't here, he would find Scarface. It shouldn't be that hard to find the puppet's hideout. But what if she was here? What if the Ventriloquist was here? The gun against his skin reminded him how he could handle that.

Well one thing was for sure, he couldn't just stand there. He reached up with his hand…and knocked.

She has to hesitate for a moment before answering the door, however, as seeing that he's here right now causes a flood of emotions of all different kinds. Once they settle, however, she's back to her remarkably calm self as she opens the door and says, "If you're here to rescue me, you're a bit late." But this isn't quite the same calm Nina that the Riddler would remember. The last time they'd met, he'd broken something deep inside her. But it's since healed even stronger than it was before, and can now be seen as a certain strengthening in the defensiveness of her posture as she carefully regards him with the same expression a person might give a snake while they're trying to figure out if it's poisonous or not. But at least she doesn't look angry.

In many ways being paralyzed from the waist down was worse then being tied and gagged. There was no physical outlet for the Ventriloquist to outlet his anxiety. Before when he was subdued in Poison Ivy's greenhouse she had taken liberties to bind his arms behind his back. This still allowed Arnold to thrash around, and struggle; thus alleviating some built in stress from his psychiatric disability.

Because of all of this, the paranoid thoughts began to formulate in Arnold's mind.

_I wonder who is there? Batman? Poison Ivy! Luthor! Mister Scarface seems as helpless as I are we going to do? Is that a sniper I see outside of her apartment? What about the microscopic insects that exist in this oriental carpet? Maybe they will crawl all over my body and begin to bite away?_

_Did that plant just move? Yes it did! All plants are alive. They're all out to get me! They're all out to destroy Scarface's criminal empire, the one that I help him build! Death to all plants! _

_I think the person at the door is wearing a shade of green. Hmmm. I wonder if they could be a plant in disguise?_

Physically the Ventriloquist looked eerily calm. His neck was turned to one side, looking toward Nina's den, fixated on a house plant.

There was a moment where Arnold was able to stray away from the thoughts, actually, hearing Nina speak snapped him back to 'normalcy.'

**"Wat's going' on? Who's at da door?" **Scarface asked, with bit of desperation in It's voice.

Relief

Relief flooded through him washing away most of his anger as he took in Nina's form. His eyes danced over her face not only absorbing every detail, but also checking for any unexpected damage. He immediately noticed Nina holding the metal pipe. He always knew that Nina was threatening, but something about having the visual made it all…

He couldn't explain what happened next. Maybe he was just so overwhelmed with the fact that she was okay. Maybe her snarky remark reminded him of the reasons he started to have these feelings for her. Maybe he was so proud that at least the woman he liked could legitimately protect herself. Maybe he hadn't realized how much he missed having her there. Maybe he was having such a bad day that he really was losing his sanity. Maybe his subconscious had started forming a plan before his conscious could catch up. Maybe it was _all_ just Nina's fault.

Yes, the last one sounded correct.

No matter the reason, his free hand automatically grabbed the bottom part of her shirt and with a quick jerk, pulled her body towards him. His lips met hers...

A sense of clarity hit. It reminded him of running. Your heartbeat increases against your chest, but there is an overall sense of accomplishment. His other hand with his cane traveled to her side and held her body against his. He liked it. He liked it more then he really wanted to admit, but he pulled away. He didn't like the idea of Nina paralyzing him. Luckily it was too short for her to even consider the option.

His eyes met hers as he parted. He wished she wasn't so stubborn, wished that she would swallow that pride of her, and more importantly wished she didn't hate him. He frowned, both in annoyance at her and himself. This entire ordeal could have been solved if she would have left Gotham like he suggested. Why couldn't she listen? He didn't believe there was an intellectual capability to listening, but obviously there was. If there wasn't she would have gotten out of town. "Riddle me this," he began as he let go of her form, "why does the woman have two black eyes?" he asked half-heartedly, knowing his own answer to it.

He shifted passed her body and through the door to get a better idea of the situation. He knew the Ventriloquist was here. Nina wouldn't have mentioned rescuing if he wasn't, and right as the thought dance through his head he saw an old man frozen on the ground with a doll right next to him. The Riddler's lips pursed out like he had bitten into a lemon. "Arnold…or should I say Scarface," he said as he walked over to him, "It seems you have yourself in quite a puzzle." He stopped when he was standing right next to the puppet. The way he talked made it appear causal and friendly, but the Riddler's eyes told a different story. He was glaring at the two. He lifted his cane and pushed it down on the puppet chest, "I'm very good puzzle, but I can't say I really want to help."

To say that the reaction of the Riddler to her greeting was unexpected... would be putting it mildly to say the least. And it triggers a certain internal debate between her heart and her head about whether she likes it or should slap him. In the end it's too brief for her to make up her mind, and after he asks his riddle and moves past her she has to take a moment to collect her thoughts. Blinking as if waking up from a daze, she answers, "Because she isn't me." That's _her_ answer to that riddle, anyway.

When the Riddler finds the Ventriloquist, Nina frowns to herself. She's still not completely sure what she thinks ought to happen to him because of this attack, but she rather suspects that the Riddler's opinion on that will likely be much more severe than hers. Sighing quietly to herself, she closes the door and walks over to stand by the couch where she can watch the two men by the dining table easily.

"It's your fault he's here, you know," she says abruptly, sounding frustrated, "He said that some woman from LexCorp sent him. Perhaps next time you try to protect me from something, you should talk to me about it first instead of trying to manipulate me. But then, that would actually require you to genuinely care about my opinion on something, wouldn't it?" She folds her arms as she leans against the back of the couch, a discontented frown firmly set on her face.

The kiss between the Riddler and Nina was an odd moment for the Ventriloquist. Even though the motion was not in his peripheral vision there was an unspoken moment and feeling that permeated through the room. When two people of the opposite sex all of a sudden went silent, something was happening..

The Ventriloquist did not know the Riddler too well. Mostly, through association and word of mouth through various criminals such as Mugsy and Ratzo. There was no mention of a possible romantic linkage between the Riddler and any other individual. The Riddler had managed to hold himself in a higher light then some of the other rogues. Even though he was not as tough physically as say Two-Face or the Joker, his mind, intelligence, and some semblance of rationality always made him one of the most cunning of Gotham's rogues.

What Scarface had said to Nina was true, at least in the crime bosses' mind.

**"Nigma! Hehe.."** Scarface began with a nervous laugh. **"If Ah'd known dat ye were involved with de 'groad, the Dummy and Ah' would 'ave preferred to stay in Arkham to 'ge honest."**

Then again it was a Catch-22, Mercy Graves was not someone you could turn down if you valued your health. But why had she chosen them? Was it because they were the only one's captive in the asylum?

**"Ah'm sure we could negotiate something g'etween da three of us?"**

The Ventriloquist lost focus on the plant, and when Scarface was speaking his eyes began to blink rapidly and uncontrollably.. Having no control of his motor functions below the neck was getting to him physically.

When Nina spoke it snapped the Ventriloquist out of a trance. He then looked up at her. She was the same woman from the bank. Back then, the Ventriloquist thought she was quiet fetching, and even getting a better look at her now, his opinion of her still held true.

The Catch-22 had applied to Scarface. But the Ventriloquist had remembered her form the bank. The briefcase that she hadn't been willing to part with, and that simple yet attractive girl next door appearance the doctor held. Arnold had been interested in the job for other reasons outside of freedom, money, and power.

After she spoke, Scarface muttered..

**"Who knew dat da 'groad had powers?"**

Edward Nigma's temper had always been held by a short fuse. It wasn't so much problematic for himself but rather the people in front of his fury. His men had learned quickly not to test him, but other rogues with egos almost comparable to himself quite often forgot. He would say he was pleased with Scarface's pitiable response, but the fact that he even came close to hurting what was his was overwhelmingly powerful. The only thing that broke him from his focus was Nina's comment in the background.

A woman from LexCorp…Mercy. His frowned deepened at the thought of what those actual ramifications meant. Lex pride must have been shot when Edward had so causally reminded the man of his criminal record. The very criminal record Edward had proof of. To think Edward was stupid enough to give the man Nina's name…to give him information to his current weakness. To think Edward even had a current weakness was ridiculous! Once again Nina was a sole factor in Edward losing his ability to logically analyze situation for his best interest. What was becoming of him? He didn't look at Nina when he spoke to her. He was too trapped in his self-disappointment and anger to really look at her. He knew if he did, those emotions and feelings would come riling to the surface like a volcano. He would once again throw his reason to the wind to please this woman. No, he would not have it. "Why waste time trying to push a river up hill when the current will drag you down anyways. I only found the better solution," he answered her remark. He wouldn't lie, there was a small tinge of sadness deep inside of him. He had hoped she wouldn't be angry. He had hoped to see a sign of happiness he was here. Instead all he saw was dread. However, another part of him didn't miss the daze look she had after he had kissed her. Why he had kissed he still hadn't come to terms with.

The puppets last words about Nina to him only made the Riddler inwardly scowl. Any person with a half decent brain could figure out Nina had some type of power. The fact they came only with a metal pipe (he assumed because he saw no other weapon) proved how little they thought of her…or how stupid they were. He moved his cane right underneath the puppets chin. Scarface's pleading and justification went on deaf ears. "What happens to a man who touches another man's stuff?" he asked as he put pressure between the wooden joints that connected the head to the body. He knew the Ventriloquist wasn't his true problem. His true problem would be handling Lex Luther, and Scarecrow…and…ugh...he had quite a bit of work to handle. "I'll give you a hint," he said joyfully with a taunting smirk as he leveraged the cane and implied enough force until there was a…

Pop.

Scarface's head flung back on the floor away from the rest of the body. Some of the anger subdued with only that little damage. He still had to handle Arnold, who was the real person who supplied the two personalities that created the pair. He turned his eyes to the paralyzed man with a large smile. He wanted to kill him, but it wouldn't help the puzzle he was now in. He needed Arnold if he were to get Lex off his back for a time. Not to mention, Nina would be furious. But…that didn't mean the Riddler couldn't get out a bit of his pint up frustration. His hand tightened on the top of his cane as he imagined using it in a different way then the created use. "Do you know the answer, Arnold, or is the riddle too hard?" he asked the man.

He had almost forgotten Nina's presence in the room. While this event was about her, it was more then that. It was an understanding between criminals. You don't fickle in another rogue's business without expecting consequences. He couldn't be sure if Scarface was telling the truth or not, but Edward only assumed the worst…especially after catching Arnold's look towards Nina. Never trust anyone but yourself, a motto he held dear. So while he was certain Nina would be furious with his actions, he couldn't bring himself to care because she lacked the understanding of the type of business he was in.

The response Nina gets to her question gets another frustrated sigh, "How can you be so sure that talking to me about it would be a waste of time when you've never even tried to do it once? And how could what you did be a better solution if it didn't work?" The depths to which the Riddler's inability to understand how wrong he is to treat her the way that he does is mind-boggling to Nina.

The rest of what the two say to each other is listened to in silence, though there's a noticeable tension around Nina: she doesn't like any of it at all, though she holds her silence and forces herself to look at the floor. The Ventriloquist is an idiot who partway deserves what he's getting, and she sees the Riddler as ultimately outside of her control so she sees little use in getting between the two of them.

That is, until, the Riddler turns his attention directly to the paralyzed man on the floor. While Nina can take a lot of things, there are some things that she can't hold back for if she feels that she might be able to do something about it, and this crosses a certain line for her. "That's enough!" she says abruptly, though aside from those words she remains exactly how she was, eyes still on the floor.

"You don't really even care about me, do you?" she asks slowly, her voice quiet but with an intensity that suggests anger. Then her eyes lift to look directly at the Riddler as she continues more quickly, "'Your stuff'? Is that all I am to you? Some pretty thing that you don't want broken? Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I am a _person_. And he didn't attack _you_, he attacked _me_. It's LexCorp who is attacking you, not him. And _I_ am the one who stopped him, so shouldn't _I_ be the one who decides what to do with him?"

She makes another frustrated sigh before she adds, "And if you're going to ignore all of _that_, don't you at least care enough to spend the two seconds it would take to consider how I feel about this? And care enough to recognize that even if you don't agree with them that my feelings should be taken into consideration?" She swallows and her expression becomes sad as she asks, once again quietly, "Would you really hurt him _right in front of me_?" She'd have thought that, if the Riddler had learned _anything_ from what he'd put her through before, that he would have learned not to do this to her. Even seeing people who are hurting hurts Nina - seeing people _get_ hurt is even worse.

The look of utter disbelief and shock on the face of the Ventriloquist can be contributed to two things that had just happened in the span of two minutes. The rocket propulsion of Scarface's head and the outburst from Doctor Nina Stenet. To be honest, the latter event startled him even more.

Arnold Wesker could not believe that the Riddler had just beheaded Scarface. Logical thought saw this coming from miles away, but Arnold isn't exactly the most logical person out there. The stability, strength, and the part of his mind that was able to advocate for itself was all of a sudden dashed away by the Riddler. The Ventriloquist was just about to have a paranoid coniption when the 'kind' doctor let loose on the Riddler.

In a moment of humor, the Ventriloquist ducked his head as if someone was trying to throw something at him for every sentence Nina concluded.

_Incredible...a woman like that..best not get on her bad side..._

Her anger at the Riddler becomes quiet amusing. Finally! Someone who was advocating for him without demeaning him in the process!

"London Bridge is falling down,

Falling down, Falling down.

London Bridge is falling down,

My fair lady. "

He chimed to the Riddler. Maybe he had a chance of getting out of here without to much damage done to him. Now if only he can become un-paralyzed.

Edward had a confident smirk dancing across his face as he started to lift his cane only to stop. His eyes ripped from the man on the ground to the woman who had just interrupted his thoughts. He noticed her stiff form and the anger that was radiating off of her as the words flooded out of her mouth.

_You don't even care about me, do you? _

Care? He wished he didn't care about her! He wished he could escape the chains that his emotions had tied to her. Couldn't she see the effort he was putting into protecting her? Was she so oblivious to his feelings that she disregarded them in such a shameful way, like wiping the smudge off a glass surface? He didn't even get a chance to respond because her eyes met his in a cold glare he wasn't prepared for. He had to grip onto his cane to stay straight.

Her next words came out like sharp knives whizzing through him, but she was wrong! She was completely wrong, but of course she would never recognize that. She wasn't just his stuff, but she was _his_, as far as he was concern. She belonged to him whether she wanted to accept that or not. If she were to affect his life in such a way he had to take control of it. It was part of the trade. He couldn't allow such a weakness to wander about for anyone to take a hold of. The fact that she believed the Ventriloquist infuriated him even more. She didn't understand the circumstances, but how could she. She had never lived this life.

It only got worst though. Sadness. He saw it. It caused his heart to twist and squeeze in that same unpleasant way it had right before he shot the hooker. He hated that she made him feel like this…made him feel like he wasn't a great person…something he never thought. He hated it. Part of him wanted to get rid of her if it got rid of this annoying emotion of guilt, but he knew that option would not bring the desirable results. But couldn't she see, the reasons he didn't ask were because he already knew her responses. He was genius. He knew she didn't approve. Why would he ask only to get the answer he didn't want to hear and then see that sad face?

_Would you really hurt him right in front of me?_

He longingly remembered the moment when the answer was an easy yes. He wouldn't have even blinked an eye, but right now he was frozen in his position. He didn't even notice Arnold's little song that normally would have pissed him off further.

Anger, guilt, frustration, were only a few of the emotion the Riddler was battling with at that moment until one finally emerged.

"Dear may I ask, what do you think I usually do during my time? Do you think I just sit in my chair plotting the ways to ruin your life?" he stated with a cold voice to match her own. Yes, anger had won out. "I don't think you have the slightest conception of how I go about my days. You've dealt with me, and dear I do give you credit, but I have manners most other so-called criminals lack. I handle people like him," he stated nodding to the man on the ground, "who both lack intellectual thought but furthermore degrade me, everyday. While some of them can be enjoyable for a talk _per say,_ and the challenge can be entertaining, I know one thing about each of them: _they lie_. So the fact that you actually believe this man just attacked you for no other reason then to escape from Arkham makes me rethink your caliber to keep up with this mental game. Criminals are not simple minds and cannot be easily lead off into a deal without understanding the catch. I highly doubt this man took this opportunity without realizing the risk of running into me, and the fact that he still so blatantly took the job knowing that, proves he's not giving me the respect I deserve. I had planned to teach it to him, but of course, being like all woman you turned this situation into me not caring about _you_!"

He didn't give her a chance to respond. She had no reason to make him feel so much emotional pain. She was wrong. She was completely wrong. "And the fact you even state that puzzles me to no end," he said shaking his head as an unbelieving smirk crossed his face. He looked back up at her, "Do you really think I'd be in this very mess if I didn't care? I…I actually made a mistake," he said aloud in disbelief as he started to walk towards this girl who understood nothing, "I made a mistake. I never make mistakes." He stopped right in front of her, "Yet for some reason a girl pranced into my life and caused me to overlook the simplest of details." A piece of hair was in her face and a large part of him wanted to push it back. He didn't. "So I apologize if my focus was not on you're _feelings_ but rather on solving the problem at hand."

Perhaps surprisingly, Nina shows very little reaction when the Riddler turns his anger on her. It's about time he told her some of what was going on in that arrogant head of his! Her expression stays angry, but at the same time it's very thoughtful as she absorbs the words and tries not only to understand them but understand the thoughts and feelings behind them. Especially those thoughts and feelings that are causing him to treat her the way that he is and that show a misunderstanding on his part of her own. And so focused is she on this task that she doesn't think to be afraid when he approaches.

Instead she's surprisingly collected as she waits for him to finish saying what he needs to say and she waits only long enough to take a deep breath before she replies. "No, I don't think you're trying to ruin my life," she says quietly, her voice a forced calm - her own anger and frustration won't help much, though it's still boiling inside her. And these first few words actually surprise her - when did she become certain enough of that to actually say so? Shaking that thought off, she forges on, "But whether you were trying or not, your mistake has created a problem for us. Not just for _you_, but for _both_ of us - LexCorp trying to kill me is most certainly _my_ problem too. And as touching as it is that you're taking a threat to me so personally, I'm not going to thank you for coming in here thinking that you're going to take care of the problem by yourself any more than you would if the situation was reversed."

She pauses there for a moment to glance over the Riddler's shoulder at the Ventriloquist, her frown deepening a bit as she does so. While she may feel sympathy for him, that doesn't mean that she likes him even slightly. In fact, she has to mentally scold herself for veering a bit too far in the other direction after he sang that song. "You may want my help," she suddenly adds, looking back at the Riddler with sudden confidence, "You're right that I believe that he didn't know of my connection to you. And you're right that he _could_ be lying. And that could prove to be an important point, so perhaps I ought to ask him about that again and let his own brain tell me if he's lying or not?"

And she stops there: even though she feels that she's far from finished addressing all the issues his angry rant called up, she's guessing the rest are things that either he'll figure out later when he has a chance to think about what was said more carefully or things that need not be addressed right now. The last part of what he said cements even more a thought she's been mulling around in the back of her mind: he's not used to feeling the way he feels about her about anyone even a little. Doesn't know what to do with himself, in fact. That's something she can identify with, even though she has to go pretty far back in her memory to recall that feeling.

Arnold did not like what he was hearing. They were beginning to patch up any emotional differences existed between the two, and would be focusing on him soon.

Mercy Graves had not informed the Ventriloquist details of the plot such as reasonings, motivations, and any knowledge of who she was. The Ventriloquist was able to identify her as a security chief for Lex Luthor only through pictures he had seen on the news and seeing her briefly through a crowd when Luthor had paid a personal visit to Gotham years ago.

"I've told the Doctor everything I know!" The Ventriloquist pleaded. "Riddler, I had no idea that you were involved. All the woman told me is that she would free Scarface and I if we were willing to pay the girl a visit and rough her up a bit. In fact the amazon never told me that her name was Mercy Graves...it was something We deduced on our own. And now we've given that information to you. That has to count for something right? Right?"

The Ventriloquist had no idea about the Riddler held over LexCorp, nor did he know about the letter that were sent to Nina. In this case he was simply hired muscle.

The real question was, Mercy Graves probably did not know about Nina's power. The doctor had done an excellent job withholding that information from the public. Most likely, Mercy thought that the Ventriloquist would have been able to harm Nina in some way, which in turn would send a message or flesh out the Riddler.

What they did not count on was, the Ventriloquist being able to associate Mercy Graves as a member of Lex Corps...or maybe she knew the Riddler would be fleshed out and had known the Ventriloquist did not stand a chance against Edward Nigma, meaning they would sacrifice him on the chessboard for something more elaborate.

His eyes were focused on Nina as he waited for her to speak. He wasn't sure what he was expecting…possibly another guilt driven lecture, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that she partially understood where he was coming from. Of course, she didn't agree a hundred percent with his choices but at least she understood them.

However when she pronounced aloud with her authoritative tone what she thought LexCorp was planning he almost chuckled. He definitely was smiling. He now understood a little of why Nina was acting the way she was. She legitimately thought LexCorp was plotting to kill her, and while she obviously could prevent such an action she must have been frustrated and hurt by the idea. "Nina, they're not trying to kill you," he stated with a smirk. It reminded him of a five year old accusing the monster in his closest for keeping them awake. "If the Ventriloquist were sent here to kill you, he would have brought a gun, knocked on the door, and waited until the light of the peep hole went dark before shooting you through the door…at least that's how an intelligent assassin would handle their job. The Ventriloquist showed up with a metal pipe meaning his goal was to either bang you up a bit or kidnap you. Either way it wasn't death, because if they do kill you they lose their only bargaining chip on the…..." he paused as his thoughts started going down a different path. The sound of a light bulb clicking on could be heard. His eyes opened wide as his free hand jumped into his pocket to grab his notebook. He pulled it out in front of him and flipped the cover opened. He then yanked out the pen trapped between the spiral binding. As his pen was about to touch the paper, he remembered he hadn't responded to the rest of Nina's comment.

He looked back up at her about to speak only to be interrupted by the Ventriloquist shouts of defense. His eyebrows furrowed together in annoyance. He still believed he was lying, and even if he wasn't lying, the Riddler had to teach the man a lesson for getting involved in his affairs.

He finally focused back on Nina with an annoyed look. If she wanted to see if he was telling the truth she could go right ahead. "Fine," he said with a wave back at the paralyze man, "See if the liar is lying." Edward had a plan forming…a plan that would solve it all, and personally wasting more time debating the issue didn't seem worth it. He stepped pass Nina and towards the couch before taking a seat. Nina said she wanted to be involved…well he could involve her, she just wasn't going to like it.

_Again, why do I even ask when I know the answer_, he thought to himself before bringing his pen to his pad to calculate the exact details to what he needed. She might not be thanking him now, but when he does get her out of this she better be on hands and knees praising him. (In a non perverted way…but the perverted way sounded good too…)

The smirk on the Riddler's face produces a frown - Nina can't help but feel like he's making fun of her a little. And where once she could wave that off with no thought whatsoever, a part of her now _does_ care about what he thinks of her. But she _does_ have to agree with that logic, and it makes her feel a lot better. Not only is being hurt or kidnapped a lot better than being killed, it's also much, much more difficult to do to someone with Nina's abilities. Did the Riddler have any idea just how much she'd held back when he did it to her? "Well, that assumes he'd do it intelligently, which I'm guessing assumes a lot in _his_ case," she retorts half-heartedly at the only point she can disagree with.

But Nina can see that the Riddler is now distracted - probably with a plan. And naturally, that's something that she doesn't want to interrupt. She's pretty sure that she can trust him to figure out a way out of this. What she _doesn't_ trust is that the ends of whatever plan he comes up with will justify the means. On the other hand, she's well aware that her protests would only carry so much weight depending on what it is. So she frowns and lets him have at it, reminding herself to watch him like a hawk.

Instead she turns her attention to the Ventriloquist. At least she's managed to avoid him getting hurt so far. But if it turns out that he _is_ lying, there's really only so much that she can do. "You're going to have to say it again," she informs the man on the floor as she walks over to stand near his head and frowns down at him, "I wasn't ready, and you're probably not doing it right."

Nina pauses for a moment, trying to sort out how she can explain this to someone without her many years of knowledge - explaining what she's going to do doesn't make it much if at all less impossible for her to be misled, and since it's a _lot_ easier for her to make the mistake of thinking that something true was a lie she wants to give him the best possible chance. "I'm not like a lie detector test - those only detect how nervous you are about what you're saying and can be easily defeated by merely being excessively confident in your lies," she explains, "What I'm going to be looking at is how much _thought_ you are putting into your words while you're saying them. To lie well, you _have_ to put a lot of thought into what you're saying. If you're _not_ thinking about what say while you're saying it, you can only say the truth or lie on accident - and even then the lies won't be very good ones. Very good liars can make it _appear_ that they're not thinking about it, but their brain still knows the difference." And Nina doesn't know that it's possible for someone to have such control over their thoughts to defeat this technique - and if anyone does, it's certainly not going to be the Ventriloquist.

"But I need to warn you," she adds, "It's also possible to put a lot of thought into the truth if you're being careful about what you say, and that will seem like a lie to me. So if you want to pass this test, don't be careful. Don't worry about trying to say it in a way that won't upset me, and don't try to leave anything out. Just say whatever is on your mind without paying much attention to what it is." Deciding that ought to be enough, she now reaches out into the Ventriloquist's brain, finding a particular spot in the white matter near the left frontal lobe. Once found, she doesn't touch a thing and only monitors their activity: these are the cells that support much of the higher thought processes in the man's brain and by sensing how hard they're working she can sense how hard the cells they supply are working and therefore how deeply he's thinking. A primitive method, yes, but very effective. "Now I'm ready: Just tell me again everything you knew about what you were getting yourself into before you came here," she announces, before growing quiet as she concentrates on the nerves and waits for him to talk.

The Ventriloquist reillterates everything that he has told them so far.

About how a mysterious amazonian type woman visited him in Arkham only days after his arrest. She offered him a chance at an 'early parole' if him and Scarface was able to complete a job for her. The job was to murder Nina Stenet.

"They...told me that they would be watching me...and that's how they would know when the job was done..."

Something he stops to add.

The Ventriloquist also emphasizes how he recognized Mercy Graves as one of Luthor's workers, and that is how he "deduced/assumed" that Lexcorp was behind everything. Originally Scarface had intended for them to bring a gun, to make it quick. But the Ventriloquist had remembered Nina from the bank and the briefcase she would not part ways with. So he had managed to convince Scarface for them to have a little 'fun with her' before they 'offed her'

He had started writing down a plan when he heard Nina speaking to the Ventriloquist. His pen stopped moving, as a small fraction of him was curious to hear her explanation. He deduced a large amount of her power, but to hear details was something new. Details to the Riddler were like drugs to an addict. He tried to act like he wasn't interested and kept his focus on his notebook, but his mind was imagining every thing she said. It was quite a spectacular talent. When she finally finished speaking his pen started to move again. He didn't particularly care what the Ventriloquist stated. It wouldn't change a thing.

The Riddler mapped out Lex Luther's connections on his notepad and better yet his connections to Nina. Luckily, Nina didn't communicate with many people meaning it would be easier to accomplish this plan. Her scientific fame would be the only true obstacle, but it could be handled. The goal was to take away Lex Luther's only bargaining chip. If he took it way, they would no longer be in a stale mate, and Edward would have the advantage. A smirk danced across his face as he put more pieces together until he heard Arnold's job description.

His pen pressed harder into the paper. He had been sent to kill Nina. Edward had been wrong. It made no sense. Lex was an intelligent businessman, why would he kill his only upper hand in a deal? If Nina had been successfully killed, Edward would have released the records to the media that connected Lex to quite a few of Gotham's worst. It would publically ruin him, and destroy quite a few of his business deals. Trying to kill Nina made no logical sense.

To be honest, the thought also made him feel uncomfortable. He was already upset that Nina could have been hurt or kidnapped, but that was something she could easily prevent. Death….there were many ways to kill Nina if she were taken by surprise. If the Ventriloquist wasn't a complete moron, he could have accomplished it before he got here. For the first time, Edward was happy that the majority of the human race was full of unintelligent sheep.

He tried to focus back on his plan, but now he believed it was flawed. Why would Lex so easily call for Nina's death?

…

Well if Lex wanted Nina dead, he could do that. "Nina, it looks like you're going to have die," he stated causally like discussing the weather as he read through his notes working through the kinks.

As Nina not only listens to the Ventriloquist's words but feels the effort he's putting into him as he explains everything once again, at first she merely frowns. It's one thing to hear someone talk about this sort of thing, and another to be able to tell as they're saying it that it's all perfectly true. But the frown quickly turns to alarm at the detail that it _had_ been her life on the line, and she doesn't bother to hide her disgust when he explains why he brought the pipe instead of a gun.

Glancing down at the weapon, still held in her hand, she suddenly points it at the Ventriloquist's face and says, "So what this pipe means is that it's _personal_. For future reference, I can hurt you more without it than I can _with_ it." And there's what is probably a completely unexpected edge to her tone as she says this. While it's blatantly obvious that Nina would be loathe to kill or even hurt anyone, even _she_ doesn't know what she'd do if pressed: the sooner he can get whatever he meant by those vague words out of his head, the safer it will be for the man's well-being.

But after making that point perfectly clear, Nina pulls the pipe away and instead grips it in both hands as she informs him, "But you've passed my test." But now that they can be completely certain that the Ventriloquist isn't lying, the question of what to do about all of it becomes the real issue. The part about the Ventriloquist being watched is of extra concern in Nina's mind - just how closely are they watching? But that thought doesn't distract her enough to make her forget one more thing; she checks the nerves in his neck that she'd damaged to see how they were recovering. "About five more minutes until it starts to wear off," she says out loud, just in case anyone cares.

At the moment, however, she doesn't care very much. No, she's too easily distracted by the Riddler's statement. She knows the jist of what he actually means by it instantly, but it's something that she has to consider for a moment. She idly fingers the pipe as she does so, finding some sort of comfort in hanging onto the object. While she doesn't, as she just said, need a bit of metal to hurt someone there's something about actually holding it that feels better than merely having her power on standby. It's tangible, and in some cases it's quicker.

"I can do that - if it's temporary," Nina says abruptly once she's made up her mind, "To make it permanent I'd have to stop my research: it's too... distinctive. Other experts in my field would know _my_ work instantly, even if it were under another name and in someone else's words. And I'd no sooner give it up than you'd give up riddles."

The Ventriloquist 'turtles' his neck down when Nina points this the pipe at his head. The tone in her voice disturbing. With his recent luck dealing with opponents and foes, this had been a natural reaction that had been developed. There was no doubt in his mind that this doctor was a dangerous woman, and not someone to be trifled with. The paralyzation of his hand during the bank robbery and now his neck had seen to that. Still...

The villain tips a poker face when Nina mentions that the effects of her powers will be subsiding in roughly five minutes. His eyes widen with delight and then quickly fall back to normal. Five more minutes, what did that mean? Would they grant him mercy? Would they continue to hold him captive? Would the Riddler attack him? Would the doctor use her gift once again?

The question mark labeled on the Riddler's attire resembled the state of Arnold's mind. Full of questions. The Ventriloquist's face was beginning to throb with an unhealthy reddish hue. His breaths had become naturally rapid and this was without having done any physical exertion. He was having a hard time breathing, and there was this nagging itch on the side of his arms all of a sudden. He couldn't wait to leave this apartment, to be able to walk again, to in-act some form of revenge.

The couple began to talk about having Nina pretend that she was murdered. Logically, this would shoot off any tail that LexCorps might have placed on her...

Then again, who said LexCorp could be behind the entire attack? Maybe someone else was using Mercy Graves who in turn was using the Ventriloquist.

Arnold looked ahead of him, at the headless figure of Scarface. The Riddler had harmed the boss. This would not do. This would not do at all...five minutes. Five more minutes..

The Ventriloquist remained quiet, looking up at the two as they discussed. His eyes darted back and forth between their conversation. He looked around trying to find anything he could use. Anything at all after his five minutes were up. Ah yes! There it is!

He was disappointed to find out the Ventriloquist was telling the truth, but truth or not he still had hampered his business. He would just have to deal with the Ventriloquist on a later note…unless…his thoughts started forming a deal until they were rudely interrupted by Nina's timeline.

Five minutes. He cringed. He had no doubt the Ventriloquist would try something in order to escape. He didn't expect it to be a spectacular plan, but it would still be time consuming. It was only a problem because they were supposedly being watched. He assumed they were watching the building and not the actual apartment. If someone had entered the building across from hers with equipment, Robby would have caught it. However, Robby didn't notice another car watching the building...disappointing really. Could he expect nothing from his men?

He would have liked to write out a few more notes, but he would have to be prepared for Arnold. He also needed to start plotting this out. When he flipped his notebook close, he was surprised to hear Nina's calm remarks…even more surprised that she wanted to go along with it. He smirked feeling slightly proud that she saw where he was going with the plan. He grabbed his cane after putting his notebook away, then pushed himself off the couch. He walked over in her direction pulling out his gun and pointing it at Arnold's kneecap. "If you have any doubt in her words, I'll put a bullet that will force you to a cane as well. Riddle me this how can a man maneuver around while both hands are already in use?" he taunted. He would not be caught unprepared by a man who messed with dolls. It would be disgraceful.

He turned his eyes to lock with hers, "A month. It should take a month for Lex's pride to heal over and forget about this entire mess. We're going to make this look real even though we are not leaving a body," he had danced around with the idea of killing a neighbor but knew Nina would frown upon it, "I need you to grab a knife and two rags from the kitchen while I have a nice chat with Arnold."

Edward then turned a calm chilling look back to the man on the floor three feet away. "Now, I'm not an insensitive guy. I understand you're in quite a puzzle. You either get beaten up by me or beaten up by Mercy. Neither sounds very promising, but what if I tell you I have a solution, a solution where Mercy will be pleased and you never hear from me again? You be thrilled I'm sure, that's what comes from having a genius as a friend. It's even so simple that someone with your small brain capacity can handle. All I ask is for you to tell Mercy you killed Nina," he said with a large smile that slowly disappeared into a serious expression, "If I hear otherwise, I promise you I will find you and present you with a riddle I doubt your mind could handle. Don't think Arkham walls can stop me if you seek it for safety. I will find you, and you will probably die." He held the expression with Arnold for a few more moments before smiling, "So does this solution sound adequate to you?"

Just as his large rant ended there was a banging at the door that caused the very hinges to rattle. _Finally_, Edward sighed. It was about time they got here. "There is such a thing as a doorknob, " he shouted at the door knowing it was unlocked. As expected Allen heard the scolding remark and opened the door with a small shaking boy following him.

Perhaps the timing wasn't ideal, but it's not like Nina had any idea at all when she'd paralyzed the Ventriloquist about what would happen between then and now. She'd only figured on giving herself enough time to figure out what to do with the man herself, with a bit of a buffer in case that took awhile. She couldn't have anticipated the Riddler showing up or the true depth of the problem. Still, it gave her enough time to prove that the Ventriloquist's attack hadn't been an insult to the Riddler's pride, and she knew that would change the man from an object of revenge to something they could use. Just enough time, by her standard.

When her words bring a surprised look to the Riddler's face, Nina has to give him a chiding smile as she asks, "Did you think that I'd be too scared to do anything I can that would help ruin someone's plans to kill me?" And helping fake her own murder would certainly help. The only things that really bothers her about the idea is the interruption in her research and the upset to her family - she's so thrown herself into her job that she's become a bit distant with them, but that would hardly lessen that shock. Still, she figures that they'd rather think that she's dead and find out that she's alive later than have her actually be killed or put her life in severe jeopardy.

The smile fades quickly and Nina suddenly grows passive when the Riddler draws his gun. Yet another reminder to her that she can only trust him with some things, but not others. But she only watches as he backs up her own threat. And she has to reflect that between the Riddler's desire to keep her safe and ability to do so, her not unsubstantial ability to defend herself, and even Batman's refusal of her request for him to not to protect her, she's probably one of the best defended people in Gotham.

When the Riddler's attention shifts back over to her, Nina nods slowly, "A month? I'll want to bring my briefcase then." It pains her to have to leave her work for that long, but as long as she has her laptop with her wherever she winds up, it won't be a total waste. "Though hopefully you can find out _why_ I'm so killable instead of relying on Lex's mood and memory," she comments, though her thoughts are really more focused on the latter part of that statement: 'not leaving a body'. The moment he mentions that, she knows that's a detail that he'd _like_ to be able to take care of and is probably able to manage, but since he's mentioning that it won't be she also recognizes that he's considering her feelings. Which is a big enough step forward that she starts toying with the idea of trusting him just a little bit more - but she can think that one over later.

For now, she heads into the kitchen and easily locates a knife and rags, setting the pipe down on the counter. She's guessing that whatever they're for will be unpleasant, but she didn't expect that faking a murder would be and she trusts that the Riddler knows what he's doing with this one. She _does_ listen in on what he says to the Ventriloquist, however, and is a bit relieved by what she hears. Just because she's upset with the man doesn't mean that she'd like him dead or even seriously harmed - she just wants to never see him again.

She's just returning with the supplies when the loud knock on the door startles and alarms her; by now having someone at her door comes with a reflexive thought of 'What now?', though she's just as quick to calm herself when the Riddler's shout indicates that he expected this and the two people who come in are ones she recognizes. She gives them a vague nod of greeting, but her attention is naturally more focused on the other two men in the room since they're not a threat.

Despite the lack of strategy he had shown over the past few weeks, the Ventriloquist was actually quiet an intelligent individual. Or not stupid at least. His problem is that he suffered from emotional instability and severe self-esteem issues.

When the Riddler points a gun at his knee cap, the Ventriloquist listens to what the man in green has to say. In response Arnold slowly nods, and forgets about the switchblade that he has hidden in his jacket pocket.

After the Riddler finishes his statement, the five minutes are up. The Ventriloquist begins to slowly move his legs followed by his waist. Even though his body still feels numb, he is still able to move the parts of his body. Arnold slowly nods as he raises his hands in the air cooley before slowly setting himself in a kneeling position.

"Tha-tha-that sounds good to me Mr. Riddler." The Ventriloquist managed to say with a slight stutter. "Mister Scarface might have something to say about it.."

**"Ah' sure do dummy." **the voice of Scarface could be heard despite the mannequin figure being without a head. Scarface's head is somewhere by the coffee table. It's wide eyes staring right at the Riddler. **"Since we're in no position to bargain, ah''ll accept yer offer Nigma. Then, when the Dummy and Ah' are finished tellin' Mercy what-cha-ever her name is, then he and I are outta dis 'gerg! One way ticket to I-O-Wah."**

The Ventriloquist keeps his arms up. For some reason the man remains calm and relaxed. He slowly picks up the headless body of Scarface and makes a motion to the Riddler, asking if he could pick up the head from Scarface and return it back to the body.

**"How does dat sound Mister Riddler?"**

Edward smirked when the Ventriloquist and Scarface agreed to his terms. He nodded at Arnold, okaying the reattachment of Scarface's head. "It sounds like we have a solution. Before you leave, I must ask you to wait until we're finished. You also need to mess up your suit a bit. If we're being watched, I need it to look like a confrontation happened," he stated as he put away his gun back into his waistband. He nodded to Allen then to the Ventriloquist communicating to him to keep the gun trained on Arnold. Edward never trusted anyone, even if a deal had been made.

Once he had the freedom of his hand again he carefully grabbed the knife from Nina. His hand lingered a little too long next to it. It was the first time he had really touched her hand since he first met her. He shook the thought away. "You can work at my place," he answered her statement, "I can get you what you need. It shouldn't be a problem." He didn't answer the other part of her statement. He knew why Lex was trying to kill her, and he would not apologize to the man. Edward would not bend his own pride by giving up his blackmail and admitting he was wrong.

He shifted the cane in his hand so he could use it to grip her free hand. He brought the knife up to it. He knew she knew what he was about to do, but he still stated, "This is going to hurt, but I need blood, a lot of it." His eyes meet hers to see understanding, "I'm also going to need you to bring one of the rags right underneath it. Don't cover the wound or you'll stop the bleeding."

This should work. He would make it appear like she had a bleed out on the ground and then was dragged out with him. They would mess up the apartment, and make it dishevel. They would put some splattering blood marks on the Ventriloquist to make it look like she was beaten with the pipe. They would put blood on the pipe and rub it against her skin to get skin particles. After they wipe it of course and stick the Ventriloquist's prints on it. Then his men would fire a few shots making enough noise to attract the attention of both the people watching them and the GCPD. He would have to put a wound on himself to explain how the Ventriloquist got away. But then they would leave with Nina wrapped up in a slow getting bloody sheet. "Robby, grab the sheet off the bed," he ordered. His plan would work. The GCPD would assume death or about to die. An ad would be put in the paper and possibly a news story. With both the media suggesting the worst, and the Ventriloquist confirming death, Lex will believe he won. He'll call Lex and then set up a meeting. They would settle whatever the issue was. It was a great plan that should work all out in his favor. A small part in the back of his mind was also looking forward to spending a month with Nina…in his home, but he ignored that. Yes, everything was going his way again.

Waiting in silence as the two make their deal, Nina keeps her thoughts about it to herself though she does frown just a little at the Ventriloquist. But her attention quickly shifts as the Riddler takes the knife. And she frowns a little again when he mentions working at his place - while she has no idea what sort of place it would be, it would certainly not be any lab. Especially not the very well-appointed one that she's used to. "Mostly what I'll need is my laptop," she replies, glancing over at her briefcase where she left it next to the couch. She is, after all, nearly always behind on actually writing down what she's researched. Enough to keep her busy for a month? Probably not, but then again she's guessing that she won't be able to work at her regular pace regardless. Still, it's more important for her to be alive, so it isn't _really_ a loss.

When he brings the knife to her hand, she grimaces - yes, she thought it would be something like this. However, she merely looks briefly at her wrist and then looks back up to meet the Riddler's eyes. "Now it _won't_ hurt," she says simply. She's never been too good about pain, so it's fortunate that she doesn't have to be. "And if it's blood you need," she adds, "I'll give you all I can spare." Count on a doctor to be a lot less squeamish about this sort of thing than most, though Nina also has the added advantage of being able to tell _exactly_ how much blood she can afford to lose. She brings the rag underneath her hand and simply nods.

The Ventriloquist places the head back on to Scarface. He watches and obeys the Riddler for the next few minutes.

He is going to play this one smart, and simply listen before any more damage is done. Indeed. After this one, he intends to high tail it out of Gotham for a decent amount of time. Iowa sounds nice.

He couldn't help but smirk when Nina made her remark about it not hurting. She really was an impressive woman. He moved the knife to her wrist. Part of him felt slightly bad for doing it, and he scolded himself for the emotion. He wasn't even going to kill her, and he still felt guilt! Frustrating to say the least…

His features scrunched together as he pressed the knife against her skin. It almost looked like he felt the pain instead of her. Then with a quick slash, he sliced a decently deep cut into her wrist causing blood to immediately fall into the rag. It poured out similarly to a faucet. He placed the knife on the other side of his waistband. He would need it later…unfortunately. He then grabbed the rag from Nina with both hands forming it into an almost bowl creation. He watched as blood started to collect and droplets started to leak from the bottom. When the rag was full of a decent amount he could work with he looked back up at her. "Put the other rag on top of the wound," he ordered waiting for her to do it before pulling the pool of blood away.

He studied the ground looking for the perfect spot before deciding the edge near the window would work. He gripped the rag at the top with his one hand before limping to the place he wanted. He was going to ruin his slacks…how annoying. At least they were black and not green. He lowered the rag until it was a foot and half from the edge…then dropped it. As expected the blood splattered against the edge then dripped down the wall in a single area...similarly to how slamming a person's head against a sharp edge would do. He quickly grabbed the rag before he lost all the blood. He studied the work. It needed to look like they dragged her a bit. This was probably the most annoying out of all of this. He had to get close enough to the ground to drag the rag along it. Bending the knee of his bad leg always hurt horribly, but he ignored it as he got close enough to touch the rag to the ground. Pressing it hard enough to leave blood on the carpet before pulling it a few feet. He then had to make it look like the Ventriloquist had beaten her with the pipe. From his point on the ground he shook the rag back and forth in the air sending specks of blood all over the place. When he was finally finished he moved to the Ventriloquist who was eyeing him with a worried look. While the Riddler realized there was blood on him, it wasn't noticeable on his current outfit of black. His green tie had luckily missed any blood. The Ventriloquist though had to have some. He couldn't have committed a gruesome murder without it. The Riddler whipped the blood soak rag across the older man's suit a few times watching him wince. Edward couldn't help the smile from forming. It wasn't exactly the retribution he wanted, but it would do. He then walked back over to Nina and held of the rag. "Hold this," he ordered handing her the rag then wiping his hand on his pants leg.

He moved to the kitchen and opened up the cupboard below the sink. He pulled out the cleaning spray and grabbed another rag. He wished he had his gloves on him, but of course the meeting before this whole episode messed up his entire outfit. He walked over to the pipe before spraying the rag with the cleaning spray. He then grabbed the pipe with rag and wiped it down of prints. Then wiped the cleaning spray, using the rag to put it back in its place. He walked back over to the pipe, grabbing the middle with the rag. He went back to Arnold and ordered, "Grab the bottom of it." He watched as the man wearily grabbed the bottom. While he was holding it, Edward moved the pipe back and forth in his hand to mess up the perfect print. "Let go," he told the man the moved back to Nina and ordered, "Rub the top with the bloody rag"

When the pipe was efficient, he threw it carelessly next to the blood drenched spot on the floor. He turned to Allen. "I want you to throw the chair and tables randomly about except for one chair that I want placed right there," he stated pointing next to the long blood stained line on the floor. It was OCD, but he had to leave a riddle behind. The riddle here would only be noticeable from the ceiling. From the ceiling, it would look like the blood and the chair formed a question mark. He couldn't help himself. He watched as Allen nodded then went about kicking the sofas down, breaking the coffee table…so forth. Robby finally entered the living room again with the sheet.

"Boss, what do you want with this," the boy said weakly.

"Bring it over here," Edward stated as he moved to Nina, "Lay it out on the ground." He turned to Nina, "You're going to have to lay down in it. We will wrap you up and Allen will carry you out. Put the bloody rag near your head. I have a shower at my place."

This would work. It had to work. He hadn't left anything up to chance…well except for his hidden riddle, but the GCPD were too stupid to ever figure that out.

Being on the receiving end of the knife is no easier than being the one holding it - perhaps even more so because of the natural sense of self-preservation tries to kick in, even when you know that it won't hurt. Then again, with the pain unfelt, it's easier to pretend that the bleeding wrist belongs to someone else, and that the blood she's watching flow through her heart with her gift is actually someone else's. _It's not too much,_ she repeatedly tells herself as she patiently watches, simply making sure that her heart isn't working too hard as less blood reaches it. In fact, even when the Riddler indicates that it's enough she suspects she could stand a bit more, but there's no need to risk her life too much in order to save it - that kind of defeats the purpose.

Pulling out the second rag, she wraps it quickly around the wound and holds it very tightly with her other hand. "It's not too much," she says, this time out loud, though it's easy enough to tell that she's using her gift because she stops paying attention to anything around her. There's a lot she can do now to help herself - encourage the worst of the damage to repair itself quickly, especially the blood vessels, and to speed up the natural process of her body coping with the loss of blood volume. It takes more concentration than normal because she's feeling a bit light-headed, but she knows that will pass and that she'll be okay. She just has to remind herself that everyone always seems to overestimate the volume of blood that they see simply because it's blood; what the Riddler had carried away with that rag looked like an awful lot, and though she doesn't pay much attention to the mess he's making with it, it's probably plenty to make someone assume that the person it's from is dead even though there's a lot more where that came from.

The first thing outside of herself that she pays attention to is when he tells her to hold the first rag, and that only disturbs her briefly. It isn't until the sheet is brought over that she starts to really pay attention again. "Okay," she acknowledges, before adding with a half-smile, "Tell Allen to be more careful with me this time." Though she's looking just a little pale, if she still has a slight sense of humor, she can't be doing that bad, can she? And nothing sounds better to her at the moment than to be able to focus all of her attention on her wrist and let someone else worry about getting her out of the building. Tossing the bloody rag into place with her wounded hand, she doesn't let go of her wrist with the other as she eases herself down onto the sheet.

He loved seeing that smile, and he was happy that he was seeing it more. "You can only expect so much from a brute," he stated with a wave of his hand as the big guy continued to destroy the apartment. He watched as she laid down on the sheet. When she finally was flat on her back, he did a once over then ordered Robby to wrap her up like a mummy. As expected the sheets started to soak from the bloody rag. Good.

"You finished?" he asked Allen who tossed things off the kitchen's counter. Allen nodded and walked over to Nina. "Be careful," Edward found himself saying before he could stop himself. Allen just rolled his eyes and he bent down picking up the petite woman. He threw her over his shoulders. Edward finally turned back to Arnold who had been standing there watching. "You can go, and remember the deal," Edward pulled out his gun, not as a threat, but for use of something else. Arnold must have taken it as a threat because he mumbled his agreement than ran out the door. Edward fired three shots. One at the glass widow and two in the direction Arnold would be standing if he had actually attacked Nina. He put his gun back in his waistband. Everything was in place. It would work, and best of all…Nina would be living with him….no not best of all.

This was all a stupid mistake he was trying to solve. Only a mistake. "Let's go. We lose the tail then head to my apartment. Robby head back to the warehouse," he stated and walked out the door to hopefully a solved solution.


End file.
